


If It Were the Real Me and You

by mylevelance



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Scientist Lydia Martin, Slow Moving, couples counselling, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29474979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylevelance/pseuds/mylevelance
Summary: Stiles loves Lydia. He would die for her with a smile on his face. They're not in Beacon Hills anymore and it's up to him to make her happy. Even if he has to ruin himself.Lydia loves Stiles. She would fight his battles for him if she could. They're not in Beacon Hills anymore and it's up to her to make him happy. Even if she has to set him free.(or the one where Stiles and Lydia go to couples counselling)
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 18
Kudos: 38





	1. Tolerate It

**Author's Note:**

> Long winded intro note:
> 
> There was this tweet about the moment in couples counselling when you realize you don't know each other anymore and the thought of that haunted me for days. I also saw some theories about Stydia breaking up after leaving Beacon Hills because they got bored of each other. That also haunted me for days... double haunting... the conjuring 2 in here. So I started writing and this disconnected dialogue style came out. It's a bit clunkly, a bit jolting, and perfect for Stiles and Lydia falling apart.
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> -mylevelance

[](https://ibb.co/tMtNt9L)

The elevator rose up to the fifteenth floor. The murky bronze mirrors of its walls reflected warped ghosts of the two people standing four feet apart. One perfectly coiffed head tilted down at a blue screen. One unkempt head turned away.

The elevator door dinged open and Stiles followed Lydia out. 

The office was exactly the kind that Lydia liked, Stiles had checked their website to make sure. There were marble floors, marble reception, and gold handles on the doors. Flowers overflowed from crystal vases. The abstract art hanging on the walls was cold and mystifying, the way it felt to Stiles in the galleries. Lydia didn’t look up from her phone. Stiles shuffled up to the reception, feeling out of place and gangly.

“Uh, for Stilinski? Ten o’clock?”

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It was a rough morning with the car and-”

“Dr. Willis is in room 203 down the hall, to the left.”

“Thanks.”

Lydia’s heels clicked away. Stiles rushed to follow. 

He knew why they were late. The engine of the Jeep had turned and turned. It wouldn’t turn over. Lydia had sat there silently, looking out the window at her friend’s walk-up while Stiles’ car wouldn’t start. They had taken her Lexus. Stiles would’ve called to tow the Jeep home if he had the time. He’d probably have a ticket when they got back.

Room 203 had a gold door handle and a gold placard that read ‘Dr. Willis’. Stiles rushed to open the door for Lydia. Her light green cashmere shoulder brushed his as she went in. Stiles wished he’d had a nicer clean shirt to wear than his old blue plaid. He hadn’t done laundry in a little while.

Dr. Willis was a sturdy looking woman. She had mauve lipstick and wide ballet flats. She shook Stiles’ hand firmly and looked him right in the eye with hers, keen and grey. He could be making everything worse with this. Although, he didn’t see what kind of worse it could possibly get.

“Dr. Willis.”

“Stiles Stilinski.”

“Lydia.”

They sat on two leather chairs. Stiles shifted around, trying not to sink too far in. He was tired from working on his latest dead-end case. Missing people drained of blood. No bites on them. The loose puzzle pieces had jumped around in his brain all night. He’d sleep if he let himself sink. 

“Would you like to tell me why you’re here today, or would you like me to guess.”

Dr.Willis reminded Stiles of his old chemistry teacher. That guy always liked Lydia better. Then again, Stiles had caused four explosions, two chemical burns, and one scrapped midterm. 

“We need to fix some things.”

Stiles said at the same time Lydia said,

“I want a divorce.”

Dr. Willis raised her pencilled-on eyebrow. Stiles cringed. It sounded so goddamn stupid. ‘Fix some things’. 

They’d been married for two years and they already had more than a few things to fix. When she’d agreed to marry him, he saw his whole life unfolding. They were going to buy a big country house, any kind Lydia wanted. They were going to travel to all the places Lydia might like to go. They’d have kids with his brown hair and her big eyes. He was going to put all his energy into keeping them safe and worshipping her and loving them all. They were going to have all they ever wanted. 

How in the hell did he fail so soon?

“You two disagree.”

It wasn’t a question but Stiles nodded slowly anyway. Dr.Willis started scribbling on a notepad on her desk. Stiles noticed she didn’t have any computer in sight. Was it an aesthetic thing? Did she go into another room to write emails or was there a laptop in the desk drawer?

“... talk me through how you came to meet with me today?”

Stiles shook himself out of his thoughts. Lydia glanced over at him with an admonishing look. God she was so beautiful, even when she was wishing he would pay attention, even when she was telling him she didn’t want him anymore. 

“I told him I wanted a divorce. He didn’t want to let me leave so I gave him two weeks before I file with my lawyer. I think we’ve got two more appointments with you before then to see if we can make things work without the mess.”

“Lyds, come on. You make it sound like I’m a controlling asshole. You know you can do whatever you want.”

“Obviously if I could do what I want, I wouldn’t be here.”

Stiles spoke to Lydia and Lydia spoke to Dr. Willis. For a minute, all Stiles could hear was the scratching of the pencil on the paper. Why did Dr. Willis use a mechanical pencil? The counsellors in the movies always used blue pen. 

“How long have you two been married?”

“Two years.”

“Twenty three months.”

When Lydia said it like that, it sounded like a prison sentence. Stiles kind of wanted the chair to eat him. The last time he’d been in an office like this, albeit a much less fancy one, he’d been alone. He’d only gone to that psychiatrist once. He’d talked about his father’s death and cried the whole time. That doctor had prescribed him some pills and told him to take it easy. He’d flushed the pills the next day and gone to work. 

“Since we only have three sessions together, I’m going to have to skip the easy stuff. I usually save this exercise for later because it tends to be uncomfortable, but I’ll respect your two week deadline, Lydia. Think of this session as breaking you down to build you up. Whether you’re built up together is up to you. For the rest of this session, you will speak to me and not to each other. Pretend the other isn’t there.”

Stiles bit down on a scoff. Like he could pretend Lydia wasn’t there. He could be in a crowded stadium and he’d find her from her smile alone. Instead he said,

“Sounds good.”

Lydia nodded. It might have been the first time they agreed on something in the last six months. 

“Since you’re so forthcoming, why don’t we start with you, Stiles?”

Stiles half expected her to say ‘Mr. Stilinski’ like his school teachers then his coach then his professors then his captain did when they used that tone. Apparently good-natured frustration was just part of the Stiles experience package. 

“Okay.”

“Can you tell me how you met Lydia and how you got to where you are now? Take your time with it and remember you’re only talking to me. I wasn’t there.”

Stiles snuck a tiny glance at Lydia. She was looking out the window at the misty city skyline. He couldn’t tell if she was ignoring him or trying to make it easier. He started anyway.

“We went to the same school since we were five. I had a crush on Lydia ever since she pushed me down in the sand box for using her pink bucket. She grew up whip-smart and I grew up watching her gloss it over to fit in better with the cool kids.”

“And how did you fit in?”

“Badly. Me and my buddy Scott kind of stuck together. We were nobodies until he made lacrosse captain in high school. Then he was special and cool and I got to come along. Lydia even talked to me a few times, mostly when her boyfriend, Jackson, and Scott were fighting. Some… bad stuff happened with Jackson and Lydia. I was around to help her out. We were on the same team for the rest of high school.”

“Team?”

“Um, like a friend group. We had a tight friend group. Some bad people came to Beacon Hills and some bad stuff happened to Lydia- but I’ll let her tell it. Some bad things happened to me too. I got mixed up with the wrong people and she got me out. We got really close after that, dated for a little, which pretty much rocked my world. Then she picked up her MIT degree and she had to go off to London-”

“Cambridge, Stiles. I had to go to Cambridge.”

“Please Lydia, let Stiles continue.”

“She had to go to Cambridge for her PhD and I graduated from George Washington. She didn’t make me any promises and I tried not to wait. But I just ended up letting down nice girls because none of them were Lydia. And I- I- know that’s a bit fucked up, to go waiting for someone who didn’t tell me to wait, but it was my gut feeling and I trust that. I got my career rolling. She came back with her honors and awards. We met up for coffee in Boston one day and it was like nothing had changed. We picked up right where we left off. It was perfect.”

“Nothing is perfect, that’s a dangerous myth.”

“Fine, then everything was awesome. I couldn’t believe it when she said yes after six months. We got married back in Beacon Hills so everyone could come. We threw an awesome party, went on an awesome trip to Spain…”

“And then?”

“My-my dad died a year back. Heart attack. I got a bit distracted, let a few things slip. Then we started fighting about things. I could tell she barely tolerated having me around. Until she didn’t anymore. She moved in with a friend in the city and she said she wanted a divorce, she gave me a two week’s notice like I’m some employee. Now we’re here.”

“Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles realized his hands were shaking. He pressed them into his legs. It rattled him to lay all that was him and Lydia out like that in front of a stranger. He wasn’t able to look Dr.Willis in the eye when he talked about his dad and the last year. He knew he’d fall to pieces if he dug too deep. He also knew there were things they wouldn’t talk about at all. The creatures and clans that had come to shake up Beacon Hills. Lydia’s struggle with ghosts and the afterlife. Stiles’ hunting murderers and monsters with Scott and Derek. The nogitsune and the Dread Doctors. Lydia’s time in the asylum and Stiles’ kidnapping by the wild hunt. Breaking each other out of all of it. 

And now look at them.

“Lydia, can you tell me from the beginning how you met Stiles and how you came to be here?”

“He said most of it.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“Fine.”

Lydia flipped a chunk of strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder and looked right at Dr. Willis as she spoke.

“I don’t remember a lot of my childhood. Somethings are… patchy. But I remember when Stiles came to my house after Jackson broke up with me. He just wanted to see if I was okay, even though I’m sure I was a cold bitch about everything. I wasn’t… myself. He didn’t take advantage of me, which now I realize is a low bar, but guys weren’t kind to me the way he was. Stuff like that happened all the time after that. He bought me six presents for my birthday, even though he couldn’t afford it.”

Stiles wanted to sink through the chair and into the floor. Lydia didn’t look over at the sound of the leather squeaking as he shifted around. She just kept talking.

“That was around the time bad things started to happen. To me, because of me. Some really bad luck and bad choices. Gradually everyone I knew became a monster, myself included. But Stiles was always just... Stiles. I liked the way he was and how he treated me. I let myself love him and it gave me something to fight for until I could get out of that goddamn town. And then I did.”

“You did what?”

“I loved him and I ran out of Beacon Hills as fast as I could.”

“But you had your wedding in Beacon Hills.”

“His dad wasn’t fit to travel to Boston and Scott had to work at the animal hospital the morning of.”

Stiles spun to face her.

“You said you wanted to get married at that little church because you missed home!”

“What was I supposed to do, Stiles? Tell you I wanted a reception at the Ritz and have you break your back trying to make it all work? My friends flew in, I picked up my dress in the city before I went. It was fine.”

“Fine?!”

“Please, Lydia, do continue. Stiles, please be respectful of my time.”

Stiles shut his mouth with a click and glared at the clock on the wall. He hated minimalistic clocks, they weren't designed to tell the numbers. The whole point of time was the numbers. 10:37 was hard to read on the flat silver lines. 

“We started our life together. I went to the engineering firm and he went to the feds branch in the city. It worked.”

“But then?”

“He stopped trying. Not with me, he still brought me dinner when I had to stay late in the office and wrote me letters on Valentine’s day. But he started making himself kraft dinner when I was away at conferences and wouldn’t buy himself new clothes unless I told him to. It was like living with a really messy monk. Then his dad died. It was really hard for him. I was ready to be there for him and help him grieve, but he didn’t want to. He just got worse and worse. The last straw was when he forgot to pick my mother up from the airport and she had to taxi out in the middle of the night. He was asleep in his car, still sitting in the driveway, because he’d been up the whole night before trying to fix it so I didn’t have to drive. I feel like I’m just sucking the life out of him. I can’t do it anymore. It’s not right.”

Stiles felt paper thin. She’d said these things to him before in bits and pieces. They hurt more all together like this. She pitied him for the love he was trying to show her. Couldn’t she see how much he cared about her? How he’d do anything for her? He’d fucked up over and over and all he had to show for it was a pending divorce at twenty-five years old. 

The scratch of the pencil on the paper was deafening. Stiles clenched and flexed his fingers, trying to feel if this was actually happening. His ragged nails bit into his palms. 

A hand curled over his, forcing their way into his clenched fist. 

“Stop it.”

Lydia muttered the words and gave him a stern look. Stiles relaxed his hands. The office air-conditioning chilled his skin when Lydia drew back into her chair. 

“Okay, here’s how we move forward today.”

Stiles sat up a little straighter at the concluding tone of Dr.Willis’ voice. 

“It’s clear that you two still care about each other and want what’s best for each other. A lot of people who come in here don’t even have that. The problem between you two doesn’t seem to be money or infidelity, but your past. Traumatic events stick with us as a built-in biological warning system. The problem here is that sometimes you can get stuck there, especially when you build relationships on such rough terrain. The problem here is that you don’t actually know each other anymore.”

Stiles stared at Lydia. Lydia looked back at him with wide eyes. Dr.Willis couldn’t mean that. They’d known each other well enough to get married. He knew Lydia’s every expression and mannerism and sigh. He knew a lot of things he wished he didn’t, like how she’d screamed in that asylum and how her body felt near death. But he knew her. It was the only thing he knew.

“That’s not true-”

“Mr. Stilinski, I am the professional in this field. I would ask that you allow me some benefit of the doubt that I know what I’m looking at.”

There it was, ‘Mr. Stilinski’. Stiles raised his hands in surrender.

“Until next time, I’d ask you to try to speak respectfully with each other. It’s better to start a fight with a referee so save it for the next session. I don’t need to know any more than I ask to, but for the rest, just treat each other like human beings. That’s all. See Marie on the way out.”

Stiles valiantly held back his laughter until he made it to the hallway. 

“You hear that? Guess we can start treating you like a human today, huh Lyds?”

A smile played on Lydia’s mouth.

“What do you mean? I’m great at playing human.”

Stiles kept chuckling until they walked back out to the office lobby and he was faced again with the reason they were there. He spoke to Marie at the front desk about the bill and tried not to feel like a worm on a line. 

He shuffled into the elevator behind Lydia. She pushed the ground floor button with her perfectly manicured finger. She’d come home from work some nights with graphite covering her hands and paper cuts on her fingers and grease on her pant legs, but by morning she was always sparkling clean. For the first time, Stiles wondered if she had a point. Maybe they weren't right anymore.

Looking at the murky shape of himself in the elevator wall, he wondered if they’d both be better off if he let it go.


	2. Wonder Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter names are corresponding songs that follow the narrative for fun and profit.

Lydia slid the key into the lock and turned until she heard two clicks. She pulled the door towards her, felt the latch release, and then turned the handle. It was an easy sequence, nearly muscle memory. Nearly.

“Stiles?”

There was a distant thump. Stiles ran into the entryway of their apartment with one arm through a grey t-shirt. The combination of his momentum, socks, and polished hardwood floor sent his feet out from under him. 

“Oh, fuck!”

He went down hard on his back. Lydia rushed over while Stiles groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. She dug through her purse for her phone and clicked on the flashlight. She’d learned to check for concussions long before they started dating. 

“Stay still, you know the drill.”

Stiles laughed emptily. 

“Still… drill…”

“Jesus, Stiles. Walking is a thing people do.”

Lydia crouched beside him. Her bare leg brushed against his half-bare chest as she positioned her phone above his face. She probably could’ve worn jeans today since she didn’t have work on Sundays. Still, she wanted to make a good impression on Dr.Willis. If Dr.Willis thought she was professional and put together, maybe she would see Lydia’s logical side of things over Stiles’ emotion. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but she wanted to win anyway. She wanted Stiles to heal from them and he couldn’t do that with her around. Him sprinting down the hall half-dressed just because she opened the door was proof enough of that. 

Lydia shone her phone flashlight into his left eye.

“Name?”

The warm amber-brown of his eyes made her feel like she was standing in a patch of sunlight. The pupil shrunk just the way it should.

“Dr. Lydia Martin. You’re early.”

It was a running joke they had that used to make her laugh. She’d been Doctor Martin for three years now. When they met new people at events who knew the name but not the face, they always assumed Stiles was the doctor. Stiles could be wearing cargo shorts or asking about the host’s history with ghosts and they still called him Dr. Martin before even considering that she could be the one with the title.

“I brought Johnny to take a look at the Jeep before we go. Date?”

She shone the flashlight in his other eye. His pupil shrunk how it should. His eyes were focused on her face, eyebrows drawn in suspiciously. 

“Johnny from work? Oh, yeah, it’s ten days til your birthday.”

Lydia hadn’t even realized. She supposed the weather had been getting a bit chillier lately, but she’d been wrapped up in her work and worried about Stiles. And fighting with Stiles. And missing Stiles. Her birthday would be two days after she served him the papers. Bad timing for sure. There would never be good timing for something like this. 

“Johnny’s the head of the aerospace engineering team and I think that’s what it’s gonna take to fix that car, short of a miracle. He’s a vampire hunter on his off-days too, only hunts the bad guys. He offered when I mentioned car trouble. You’d like him if you gave him a chance. Day of the week?”

Stiles squinted and Lydia switched off the flashlight. She pretended to inspect his head for injuries as an excuse to run her hands through his hair. 

“Sunday. He _offered_ , huh? Is he working on it right now? He’ll be gentle right? She’s a lady.”

Lydia didn't take the bait to argue about her very platonic relationship with her co-worker. They did that three days ago over the phone. She rolled her eyes and helped Stiles to his feet. An ache built deep in her chest with the feeling of his hand in hers. She remembered the last time she’d helped him to his feet. He’d slipped on the ice last winter. They’d laughed and kissed right there in the street. He’d tasted like toothpaste and winter. 

“Yes I’m sure he won’t be too rough with your thirty year old truck. He’ll be done by the time we get back. You’re all good, by the way. No concussion that I could see. Let’s get some ice though, you’re gonna have a lump.”

Stiles tugged on his shirt and frowned as they walked into the kitchen. Lydia fished around in the freezer, finally spotting a bag of peas shoved in the back corner. Stiles leaned against the counter while Lydia held the bag of peas to the right spot. Stiles used to like it when she helped him do impromptu first-aid. He just looked grumpy now. 

It was clean in their apartment. The kitchen counters were spotless and the floors gleamed. Even the picture frames of them and Scott and her parents and the sheriff didn’t have a speck of dust on them. Stiles must have spent the whole morning cleaning. Lydia hoped it was because he wanted to have a clean home and not because she was coming over. 

“Probably a good thing I don’t have a concussion. They put me on a six week recovery probation last time.”

“Was that when you kept coming home from ‘super top secret work’ with migraines?”

“Hey, if they just let me back in the office I wouldn’t have had to keep jumping the fence to pick up my case files. Picking the evidence room lock without the code-in email really made my head hurt too.”

“Pretty sure the fence-jumping made the concussion last longer.”

“Potato, potahto.”

A calendar alert pinged from Lydia’s phone. She silenced it and slid it back into her purse. Today she'd picked the blue Hermes bag to match her blouse. 

“Time to go?”

Stiles asked something more with his eyes. Lydia felt a brief moment of indecision. She could call it off here. She could say she was sorry and that she loved him and that she wanted to stay in the warmth of his sunlight forever. She did want that, but she loved him more. 

“Yeah. I’ll drive.”

“Sure, Lyds.”

*********

Dr. Willis regarded them over a white cup of tea with a mauve lip mark on the rim. Lydia folded her hands neatly on her lap and stared back. She felt more than saw Stiles fidgeting with his jacket zipper.

Lydia considered reaching into her power just to see what she could get from Dr.Willis. The ghosts clinging to a person could be very helpful in letting slip their weak spots. She didn’t. Lots of people died in the city every day, she didn’t need to feel them all just to get some secrets on the counsellor. Instead she sat and waited for Dr. Willis to start. She and Stiles had no idea where to start. 

“Today we’re going to talk about health. What makes a relationship healthy. What makes the people in the relationship healthy. The difference between sick and dead.”

Lydia took a sharp breath through her nose. Stiles stopped fiddling. Dr. Willis continued.

“You’re welcome to speak to each other, it’s a discussion for us all. Lydia, why don’t you start. What do you think makes a relationship healthy?”

Lydia rattled off a list in a calm and measured tone.

“Communication, respect, quality time.”

Stiles gave her a sideways look like he knew she was lying. 

“And what have you done in your relationship in the past year to instill those things.”

Lydia thought about it for a moment. She and Stiles had great communication when she was helping him with murder cases from the supernatural department of the FBI. Sometime last year that 'helping' had turned into explosive arguments and long drawn out silences. She didn’t write off his conspiracies about the latest monster of the week as crazy and he didn’t write off her nightmares as hysteria. That was what respect was like for them. Sometime in the summer that respect had turned into him grilling her about how her Banshee connections were doing and her leaving the house as often as possible. They used to spend a lot of time going on dates around the city that always ended up with chasing something not-quite human down back alleys. Sometime in the last month, whenever they were in the same room they were yelling or ignoring each other as much as they could.

“We used to text a lot during the day. About what our friends back in Beacon Hills were up to, about dinner plans, things like that. In person, Stiles isn’t afraid of the hard conversations and I’m not afraid to bring hard things up.”

That was the problem. She could bring up anything from how he kept pestering her boss about aliens to how he needed to put his suspect cork board away after ten pm. He’d promise to do better and she wouldn’t want to hear another promise and they’d fall into a fight. 

“And for respect?”

“We both have things that we do… better than the other. I put my ego aside when I know he should be taking the lead.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, you know. Fixing stuff around the house, thinking outside the box, anything to do with his work.”

….talking around psychopathic demon cult leaders, tracking people eating mermaids in the harbour, trapping backyard pixies. Stiles gave her another sideways look. Lydia usually fixed the cabinets and patched holes in the drywall. The last time had been when a particularly nasty djinn had followed him home from work in his coffee mug. Lydia had patched the holes in the drywall while Scott drove Stiles to Decon to get some frankincense stitches. 

“And what about quality time?”

“That one’s been hard.”

Dr. Willis hummed and scribbled on her notepad. Lydia crossed her legs, feeling like a speck under a microscope. She was a bit afraid that they’d dig too deep and find that her marriage was falling apart because she’d become the cold bitch she used to pretend to be. She could handle losing Stiles if it was for his own good, but she didn’t know if she could live with herself after all this was done. 

Dr. Willis looked up at Stiles who rubbed his hands on his blue jeans. 

“Do you agree?”

“No, not really. Communication and respect is fine for, like, co-workers, maybe a reliable hotdog guy. You know? The one with the good coffee and the name brand mustard? I respect that guy, we spend quality time on my lunch break, communicate about hotdogs.”

God, he was a smartass. Her smartass. 

“What makes a healthy romantic relationship then? Think more general, don’t go digging in your own for proof.”

Lydia saw the words register in Stiles’ brain and a look of hurt pass through his eyes. It was gone in an instant. Lydia felt the hurt too. They’d been so hopeful two years ago. She’d felt like everything was falling into place how it was supposed to be. Then she learned that good things don’t fall. 

“Well, uh, I guess a healthy relationship starts with love. Love, and uh, resilience? Chemistry too, probably. I like the hotdog guy, but I don’t want to take our relationship to the next level.”

“And what have you done to instill those things?”

Stiles glanced over at Lydia like she was going to help him out. Lydia raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t going to rehash how they fell in love, they’d done that last time. 

“I don’t think they’re things you _do_. Love is there when you get to know someone and realize you want to be close to them and protect them. Resilience is sticking together even through the bad shit, sorry, stuff. We’ve been through some of the worst, Lyds. I don’t get how we’re tripping up now. It doesn’t make any sense.”

He turned his whole body towards her while he spoke. The honesty made her throat tight. She was tripping them up, is what he seemed to be saying, they’d been fine and she was wrecking everything. He wasn't entirely wrong, but it was coming out all warped and distorted.

“I can’t do this anymore, Stiles. We helped each other a lot in the beginning, but I can't be the one person you hang your hopes on. It's too much pressure for anyone, even me. Have you even _tried_ to talk to Scott or the pack or your work buddies off the clock or do anything other than work since I left?”

“Scott’s busy, Malia's MIA, and I don’t want to bother Liam's pa- group while they're finishing up college all over the place! I’m fine on my own, really, but I’m not fine without you. I’m not trying to trap you or gaslight you. I just don’t understand what's happening.”

“You can't guilt me into staying with you just because you want me to. Are you hearing yourself? You're not happy and you can't blame me for everything! That’s why I agreed to come in the first place. If you won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to her.”

They both looked over at Dr. Willis. She tented her fingers under her chin, eyes alight with something like mirth. Lydia didn’t like the look.

“You’re both wrong.”

“What?”

Stiles and Lydia chorused together. Lydia was sure she said the right thing, she’d said what she thought she was supposed to say. Dr. Willis carefully checked over her notes before she spoke.

“You’re like ships in the night on this. Lydia, what you actually need in your relationship is boundaries and balance, realistic expectations, something stable for the long haul."

Actually, that sounded pretty good. Too bad Stiles had no boundaries and neither of them would know balance if it hit them in the face. Lydia conceded that realistic expectations had always been a challenge for her too.

"Is that what you want Lydia? I can do better, I can work on it. Low expectations? Call be Mr. Bar-on-the-Floor."

Dr. Willis was watching Lydia's reaction closely so Lydia didn't show one, just looked straight ahead and nodded once. Dr. Willis sighed and turned her attention to Stiles. 

"Stiles, I think what you need to feel loved and appreciated isn't necessarily love itself, but reciprocation of the loyalty you give. Someone to have your back no matter what, an ally with the chemistry you talked about." A hard look came over Dr.Willis' face. She said the words to Stiles, but her eyes slid back to Lydia. "Someone who won’t leave like your father." 

Stiles’ breath left his chest in a little huff. Lydia shut her eyes and felt herself turn to stone. Sheriff Stilinski had died in a very permanent way. How could Dr. Willis say that? Lydia and Stiles both been dead, or very close to it. Was that what it felt like to Stiles? Was her getting some space to breathe and trying to let him find himself again the same as being dead? 

She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any part of this. 

Her bag handle felt cool and smooth as she picked up her bag and walked out. She rode the elevator down to the parking garage alone. 

She sat in her car breathing in new leather for seven minutes. Stiles came out into the parking lot and jogged over to the car. He checked himself and slowed to a walk. Lydia wiped her mascara from her cheeks with a napkin she kept in the glove box for food spills. Stiles tapped on the window, face betraying only earnest concern. Lydia rolled down the window. 

“You okay?”

“Not really. I knew this was going to be hard, but she had no right bringing up your dad like that.”

Stiles leaned his elbows on the side of the car and looked off into space. 

“She told me it was just being hard on you because she wanted to see you crack. You know you’re tough as nails, Lyds. I think she was trying to get at the soft bits. She said she wanted to see if you cared as little as you said you did so she could decide whether it was worth going through another appointment.”

“It wasn’t fair to use you against me like that. What kind of counsel is that?”

“I don’t know if we should be talking about fair. Fair never got us anywhere. But we don’t have to go back in there today. I paid out for the session.”

Lydia looked out into the parking garage instead of at his big brown eyes full of big sad guilt. 

And that’s when she felt it.

A tight feeling building low in her belly, pulling up through her chest. She really really hoped it was just a sneeze. It was never just a sneeze.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Get in the car.”

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue, but Lydia motioned with her hand for him to get moving. 

"Right. Now."

His eyes went wide and he rushed to the passenger side. At the same time, a black sedan squealed into the parking lot just ahead of them. Lydia was hit with a wave of dread, the kind that came right before she saw the death. A man stepped out of the black sedan. He looked pale, skittish, with a scruffy beard and a bald spot at the top of his head.

“Lydia, what is it? What do you see?”

Nothing. Just a sketchy guy in a parking garage in the middle of the day. Nothing. 

“It’s fine, I think I-”

The vision leapt up at her out of nowhere. Lydia clapped a hand over her mouth to force in the scream. 

Another man was going to pull into the parking lot in a bland silver Honda. He was going to pull up beside this guy, they would exchange a few heated words. The man in the car would drop a glass orb on the ground beside him and chant an incantation. Lydia couldn’t see more than a large hand. She tried to get closer, but the vision only let her see part of the death. The man with the bald spot would start to bleed from every pore. He wouldn’t even call for help, just fall to the ground in the slick, shuddering. The blood, dark and thick, would flow into the broken orb. Once it was full, the man on the ground would be dead. The car door would open and-

Lydia’s consciousness snapped back into her body. She hadn’t had a vision that strong in months and she’d never seen someone die like that. They weren't about to watch it now. She turned the key in the console and felt the car hum to life under her hands. Lydia punched the accelerator down before the engine even had time to warm up. Stiles grabbed the dashboard as they swerved out of their spot. 

“WHOA! Shit!”

Lydia sped up the parking garage ramp, feeling the tires lose touch over the speed bumps. 

“We’re going to go by a silver Honda in about five seconds. Get the plates and look in the driver’s side- casually, Stiles!”

Lydia slowed the car around the last corner out onto the street. The silver Honda passed them and Stiles craned his neck as if he were checking something in the back seat. Then they whizzed by out onto the street. Lydia’s mind ran a mile a minute. She needed to get out of the area. There were too many eyes, too many ears. 

“Take a left up here, head for the shipyard.”

Stiles pointed as he spoke. The shipyard was perfect, everything was mostly automated and security was on the moving parts, not the area around it. Lydia pressed the toe of her Jimmy Choo’s down and caught the end of the yellow light. 

“It’s a right next… yup… then left in two blocks… you’re doing great, Lyds, almost there… get in the left lane here, there should be an alley… there!”

Lydia sped down the back of the shipyard until she was just past the main building. She stomped on the break and tumbled out of the car, stumbling on the gravel path behind a warehouse. Stiles ran around the side cramming on industrial ear muffs. Lydia was a bit touched he remembered to grab them from the back. 

She was out of time. The scream tore out of her chest like a wild swarm of hornets. It burned up her throat, it pierced the air itself. Lydia focused on the shape of it, softening the edges as it left her. This was a mourning scream, not an attack. A life ended too soon in some unnatural way. She saw the man bleeding out behind her eyes so she opened them to see Stiles instead. He held her steady.

She gasped through the end of the scream, shaking in Stiles’ arms. She hadn’t screamed in a long while. She hated the Banshee scream now that she didn't need it to fight all the time. It made her feel like a passenger in her own body, it made her feel powerless. She’d had control, she’d had her shit together. What the hell happened to that? What the hell happened to the man in the parking garage?

The sounds of the shipyard filtered in slowly, one clank at a time. The wind blew cold through her hair, obscuring her vision in strawberry blonde. Stiles rubbed her shoulders, tucking her into the frame of his body. Lydia let herself lean into him. Just once. A few moments of weakness. 

Lydia got strength in her knees enough to straighten up on her own. She looked pointedly at Stiles’ hands on her shoulders and he let them fall with a wounded look in his eye. Lydia couldn’t stand to see it, see herself hurting him all over again. She looked up at the grey sky and breathed. 

“I got a good look at the guy… but why did you run?”

Stiles said it slowly, cautiously. 

“Because there was going to be a horrible murder with some magic I’ve never seen before. The guy in the Honda dropped some kind of glass ball and the other guy literally bled out of his skin. We were going to be the only ones in the parking lot other than the guy with some kind of lethal magic.”

“We could have saved his life!”

Lydia turned on him, feeling the anger burn cold in her veins.

“We never save their lives, Stiles. Your whole job is chasing trails of bodies. For Christ’s sake, Stiles! We’re not in high school anymore. My life isn't Blues Clues. I can’t keep putting myself in danger for people we can’t save. You have the plates and the description so go chase him with your team if you want to, but leave me out of it.”

“You’re sounding like Derek right now. Most people are worth the effort to save. You have this amazing power, Lydia. Why don’t you want to use it to help people?”

“Maybe Derek was right. Just because you don’t have power doesn’t mean I have to make up for it all the time!”

She regretted the words right away, but she wouldn’t take them back. He needed to understand that they didn't see eye to eye on anything anymore. If he wouldn’t let go, she’d push him off the ledge. Stiles whistled.

“Wow. Low blow, Lyds. I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, save that for when you're on the clock.”

Lydia crossed her arms. Stiles scratched the back of his head awkwardly. It was a long moment punctuated by the booming activity of the shipyard before Stiles spoke.

“I didn’t realize you could hold back the scream like that.”

“I’ve been working on it.”

“Really? Maybe I could help-”

“I've had enough for today. I’m driving you home now. Johnny’s probably done with the Jeep and I'm tired.”

Stiles' hopeful face fell. He was really good at hiding his emotions when he was playing with fire. He didn't hide any of it now. Maybe he didn't feel like she could burn him anymore than she had. 

Lydia felt the crush of gravel under her designer shoes like a hundred cracking bones.


	3. Your Ex-Lover Is Dead

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah, Stiles. She’s the only witness. Cams all died right before you guys left the lot. If she doesn’t come in we’ve got nada. You know you can’t write your fancy reports on nada. Bring your girl by home base this afternoon and we’ll get a statement and get out of your hair.”

“No, no it’s okay, Benny. It’s just…”

“Lady troubles?”

“Ha. Yeah. Something like that.”

“Been there, man. Let me tell ya, if it’s not one thing, it’s her mother.”

Stiles was almost certain it wasn’t her mother. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. See you later.”

“Later.”

Stiles hung up the phone and breathed in the cool morning air. He liked to walk through the park near their apartment before work. It was a good place to think when the pieces of a case just wouldn’t click together. It was a good place to sit and get some sun. It was a good place to not go out of his mind when his wife spent less and less time in their home to get away from him. 

The whole business with the murder really wasn’t helping anything. Lydia hadn’t said anything since it happened. Stiles had sent her about seven texts. At least she read them. He didn’t want to get used to Lydia not talking to him, but boy was he getting practice. 

Now he just had to call up the woman who was trying to divorce him and convince her to come for a semi-traumatic interrogation that promised to last at least an hour. Always a good time with Stiles. He shook his head at the complete disaster his life was turning into. He didn’t want to call Lydia, she was the clearest reminder of how bad it’d got. 

He procrastinated for a little bit, taking a lap of the pond in the park. It was a nice autumn day. The leaves were fiery orange and red in the trees. Couples walked hand in hand all bundled up together. Stiles remembered when he and Lydia used to walk around like that. There was a point sometime after they reconnected where they couldn’t get enough of each other. They woke up wrapped in each other and ate breakfast with his hands on her legs and her head on his shoulder. They went for walks to show off their love like a badge of honour. They had sex on the kitchen counter just because they could. They picked out furniture for their new apartment together and lied to the sales clerk about it being their anniversary to get a discount. Stiles missed it so much his stomach hurt. 

Or maybe he was just hungry. 

Stiles planted himself on a wooden picnic table and called Lydia. 

“What is it?”

Sometimes she just gave him the warm fuzzies. 

“The team wants your report.”

“You’re kidding. You’re absolutely kidding me right now.”

“I- no. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m just swamped at work. Our stomatal transpiration nanosensors are glitching out and we’re supposed to be launching next month.”

“Sounds… rough.”

Stiles did not know exactly what it sounded like.

“Yeah, well, when should I be there?”

“They said something along the lines of ASAP.”

“Christ. Fine. Okay. I’ll be over on my lunch break at one.”

She said it through a sigh.

“Thanks, Lydia.”

“Don’t thank me either.”

She hung up. Stiles resisted the urge to scream. 

Four hours later, he met Lydia in the lobby of his building. She seemed annoyed as she went through the metal detectors. Stiles thought she looked pretty today even if she was pissed off at him. She had a long blue vinyl jacket and a short red skirt which matched chunky red heels. Whenever she left the office, the boys always jostled Stiles about what a catch she was. Didn’t he know it. 

Lydia marched passed him to the elevator. Stiles rushed to catch up.

Today, Benny was interviewing her. Stiles wasn’t allowed to interrogate family and Benny had volunteered. Stiles didn’t know if he liked how fast Benny had offered. Still, the work had to be done. Lydia walked herself to the interrogation room and sat right down on the metal chair bolted to the metal table. 

She'd been interviewed in that room three times before. That was back when Stiles was just the new pattern analyst for the city's supernatural division. He'd been promoted to the team leader nearly a year ago when their old team leader got taken out by a nasty poltergeist in the old town. Lydia hadn't sat in that chair for more than a year. She hadn't been to his work since he took charge. She'd cooked him a congratulations dinner though. They'd gotten along alright that night. The chair in question faced the observation room window which Stiles slipped into. Benny, his second in command with a meticulously maintained beard and the heaviest Boston accent Stiles had ever heard, already occupied the chair facing away from the observation room. 

Just behind the glass sat the rest of his team. In the first seat, dark eyes glued to her laptop was his research op Meg. She had deep brown skin and half her brain in her sources at all times. When Stiles first met her, he’d thought she was quiet. He was wrong. In the next chair sat his occult specialist Jeremy. He was a lanky pasty guy with a jet black mullet and an ever present aura of Chris-Angel-wannabe. Stiles had thought he was all talk and no game when they first met. He was wrong. In the final chair lounged their intern Steph, deeply engrossed in a game of candy crush. She was a roundish Asian girl whose hair went from black at the roots to grey at the tips. When Stiles heard that he was getting a first-year intern last month, he’d been excited to have the chance to mould a younger version of himself. Jury was still out on that one. 

Meg and Jeremy nodded to him quickly as he came in and went back to their respective work; typing quickly for Meg and looking mysterious for Jeremy. Steph popped a pink bubble with a bang and Stiles hit record on the room controls. He leaned forward on the control table and waited for Benny to start. 

“Heya there, Ms. Stilinski. It's good to see that gorgeous face, but I am sorry about the scenario.”

“Me too, Benny. And Lydia’s fine.”

Stiles thought it was big of her not to say her last name was Martin in front of his entire team. 

“As I’m sure ya know, it ain’t pretty. Can you tell me how this went down?”

Benny slid a tablet towards her with a few images displayed on the screen. Lydia picked it up. Stiles saw her hand waver then steady itself. He didn’t blame her, the pictures were, in fact, not pretty. 

Lydia laid out the events in a factual tone. She didn’t embellish or take dramatic pauses. She told it exactly how it happened. While she spoke, Stiles started poking around in the story, trying to draw connections to… something. 

That was the problem lately. The missing and murdered stack just got higher and higher. Usually they only had one or two murder cases on the go in their department, the rest were mostly unusual sightings that turned out to be ticks of the light. Now they were up to four murders. They had one vic with runes burned into their skin. One vic with their insides turned to stone. One vic with their bones missing and no exit wounds. The only thing connecting them was the fact that Stiles had no idea who, or what, donnit. 

This one seemed like more of the same. Some kind of spell or potion to make the vic bleed out without a wound. Stiles turned the circumstances over in his mind. By Lydia’s account, they weren’t dealing with a vampire or succubus. Maybe not even something magical in itself. Stiles had got a good look at the guy as he drove by. The guy had been mid-forties, light build, salt and pepper hair. Sunburnt skin. Perfectly average. 

In Stiles’ books it was the average ones you had to watch out for. 

They had been running the plates since Stiles gave his report last night. He’d stayed awake until 5am waiting for a hit. Meg sent him home when she found him sleeping at his desk. Now, a whole six hours after he'd left and come back, they still hadn’t had a hit. Sometimes Stiles wondered what the point was working for a scary government agency if he couldn’t even get the traffic cams to work. 

“...drove out of there because I didn’t want to be exposed to the spell and Stiles got a look at the guy. Then I dropped him here and went home.”

Stiles blinked out of his thoughts. Lydia was lying. They’d gone to the shipyard so she could scream and not worry about hurting anyone. Everyone here knew she was a banshee, except for Steph. Why was she hiding it now?

“Did you recognize the incantation? The orb?”

Lydia shook her head, tightly.

“Neither were like anything I’d seen before. I remember a bit of the incantation though.”

“Let’s hear what you got then.”

Lydia took a breath and closed her eyes. It was her deep concentration face. Stiles’ hands spread on the control table. 

“Okay, it was something like ‘ _Pellem pro pelle, os ad os, medulla est adipe, de sanguine sanguis_ ,’ he said something else, but the vic was already down.”

Stiles bet that was exactly what the magic man had said, word for word. Stiles loved her big brain almost as much as he loved her. He turned to Meg and Jeremy.

“Whatcha got for me?”

“It’s definitely latin. I’m combing through related texts with that phrase-”

Jeremy interrupted Meg.

“‘Skin for skin, bone for bone, marrow for marrow, blood for blood’... What? Don’t look so surprised. I read the grimoires. Half that shit’s in latin.”

Stiles clapped them both on the back.

“And that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

Steph blew another bubble. 

In the interrogation room, Benny started swiping on the tablet. 

“I just don’t see why someone would do _this_.”

Stiles saw Lydia start to get pale. Benny was the superorganism expert on the team and fairly comfortable with all things gruesome and grisly. Lydia was a theoretical physicist.

Benny kept swiping. Image after image of the dead man Lydia chose not to save flashed by. Stiles heard her breath change into a shallow staccato over the crackly speakers. Her lip trembled. 

He was on his feet in an instant. His team barely looked up at the movement. They were used to his erratic jumping by now.

Stiles burst into the interrogation room. He swiped Benny’s tablet from the table and hit the sleep button. 

“I think that’s enough. We got what we needed.”

Benny raised his eyebrows and lifted his hands in surrender. 

“Sure, boss.”

Lydia stared at the reflective glass of the observation window, a tremor in her shoulders and unshed tears welling in her eyes. 

“Out. Everybody out.”

Stiles pointed to the spots where Meg, Jeremy, and Steph sat for good measure. Benny vacated the room at the hard cut in Stiles’ voice. While Stiles couldn’t see them, he was certain his team in the observation room were filing out quietly. Stiles had earned their trust by putting himself on the line and trusting their instincts like he trusted his own. They repaid him with respect almost unusual for someone his age heading up a task force. It’s what made their whole operation work. 

The door shut with a bang behind Benny and Lydia flinched. Lydia never flinched. 

Stiles crouched in front of Lydia and took one of her hands in his. He didn’t know if she would want him to touch her at all. But she didn’t snatch her hand away and he took that as acceptance. 

“Lyds. Talk to me. What’s going on? You never used to get like this with photos.”

Lydia laughed. It sounded wet and hollow.

“There’s a lot of things that I got used to that weren’t okay, Stiles. This isn’t okay. I’m not okay.”

Stiles rubbed her hand between his as if the friction would warm her over.

“You will be. You’re tough as nails-”

“No, I’m not!”

Stiles sat back on his heels at her outburst. Lydia took a breath and spoke with the first real emotion in her voice he’d heard all day.

“I’m not okay, Stiles! I’m not tough as nails, or hard as a rock or whatever metaphor for being invincible you’re going with. I’m just a person. A person who sees dead people even when she doesn’t want to, but still a person. I’m tired of pretending that the things I see are even remotely okay. It’s exhausting and it hurts and it's scary. I’m not the same eighteen year old girl I was when I said I would use it to fight. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. His view of her was twisting and warping. She’d been like a Valkyrie of his wildest dreams flying into battle. She’d been like a perfect doll of a woman forging her way through their new life. He saw something else in the shake of her hand in his. 

She was real. 

“Lydia…”

“I’m going to go now. I still have a butt load of coding to scrub and a company to save. I gave you what I have to give today. But I can’t watch another person die from the sidelines and know that I can't do anything about it without risking- It will be easier not to make the horror show worse if I’m not with you. Leave me out of it, Stiles. I mean it.”

It hurt. Stiles didn’t trust himself to speak without begging so he just nodded his head. Lydia stood and dusted off her skirt. Stiles handed her her bag and she took it, a look of composure settling back on her face. He had the bittersweet privilege of watching her walk away. 

His phone pinged with a notification just as the door closed behind Lydia. 

They had just got their license plate hit.


	4. Breakfast At Tiffany's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to make this from Lydia's perspective but that did not end up happening. More Lydia POV in the next few chapters.
> 
> (also this song is my favourite balance of cavalier and heartsick)

Stiles apologized as he rushed into the room. He practically threw himself into the leather chair, huffing and puffing. 

Dr. Willis smiled sardonically. 

“Thank you for joining us, Stiles.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just got caught up in work. We’re onto something big.”

Lydia’s head snapped towards him. She opened her mouth, paused, then pressed her lips together. Stiles bet she wanted to know. Too bad. She wanted to stay out of it, so he’d keep it to himself. 

Meg had got a hit on the plates two days ago. They’d tracked the car to Salem. Stiles had been grinning as they went through city limits. He loved when things ended up in Salem. Maybe love wasn’t the right word considering someone usually ended up dead. More like he felt electrified going into a place where the only thing that made sense were things that went bump in the night. Salem was built to kill him. Just the way he liked it.

They’d found the car and done a full crime scene rundown on it. Not much turned up about Gary Oldman, the owner of the car. He had a golden retriever and wore a lot of knits. He shopped at the local market instead of Wal-mart. No one in the neighbourhood seemed to know him or be able to point them to his house. Benny had collected some soil samples clinging to his tires while Stiles ran through every de-cloaking trick he could think of, from mountain ash to sage. That brought up nothing much but smoke. He’d left Jeremy and Steph back at the home base to work through the runes from the first vic. When Stiles had got back, Steph had managed to make Jeremy cry by using his collector's grimoire as a foot rest. All in a day's work.

He’d been at work since six am looking for something he could use from the Salem samples. That town never let him down before. He just had to keep looking.

“..Stiles, are you with us?”

Stiles jerked out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, heh, yep. Right here. Mark me present.”

“Good. As I was saying, I’m hoping that today can be our first step to reconciliation.”

Lydia frowned. Dr. Willis kept going.

“It was a rougher session last time, and I’ll be the first to admit I may have overstepped. At the same time, I saw what I was hoping to find; the truth. You aren’t dead to each other, just a little unhealthy. Now the nature of any romantic relationship is private in itself and it is not my responsibility to counsel you on whether you should remain married or go your separate ways. However, I hope at the very least you can both leave here fostering more open, effective, and caring communication.”

“Sounds like homework to me.”

Styles felt Lydia glare at the side of his head for a second.

“What truth are you referring to? I’ve been honest this whole time. I don’t know why you felt the need to take a swipe at Stiles for it.”

“You won't want to hear it, but I’ll tell you. What I saw last session was that you’re directed by your logic and not your heart. You’re clearly an intelligent woman, and I suspect you’ve put logic in the driver’s seat to get away from the things that scare you. I only saw your logic falter when I put pressure on Stiles. Which would lead me to believe he’s where you left your heart.”

Lydia’s mouth popped open, but Dr. Willis talked over her.

“I also saw that Stiles has more composure than you give him credit for. If you’ve been looking for someone reliable, you needn't look far, just look past your memories. Your husband doesn’t live there and neither do you. Again, I was not in your whole relationship, I don’t know anything you haven’t told me. I’m only calling it like I see it.”

Stiles felt a bit flattered by that. At the same time, he felt kind of bad that Dr. Willis was always taking his side. Lydia wasn’t a bad person just because she didn’t love him anymore. 

“I have problems too, it’s not all Lydia’s fault we’re tripping up. Takes two to tango and all that.”

“I’m not interested in ‘he said she said’. I just want to see willingness to try to get better. And again, you might still choose to end your relationship, but my job is to make sure it’s on a better foot than you came in here on.”

Lydia crossed and uncrossed her ankles. She was wearing the boots Stiles had got her for her twenty-third birthday and the poppy print dress he got her for Christmas last year. He wondered if she did that on purpose.

“So what are we supposed to do?”

Stiles did a bad job of keeping the frustration out of his voice. It felt a bit like they were going in circles. He knew they were off down a bad path. He knew they needed to get their shit together enough to be cordial. He knew he didn’t know how to bridge the gap. 

“We’ll do two exercises today. The first one is about fear-”

Lydia took a tight breath and sat back in her chair.

“-and the second is about gratitude.”

Stiles shifted side to side and wiped his hands on his jeans. When did he get sweaty again? He was a bit embarrassed to realize he was nervous. He felt like more was riding on this than the time a Jersey devil took a whole elementary school hostage while Benny and Meg were away upstate ghost-tracking. Stiles had handled that with a few well placed puns and a lot of elbow grease. And an exorcism. He would rather be performing an exorcism right now, actually.

“We could do the whole childhood memories thing, but I have a feeling that’d do more harm than good with you two.”

Stiles laughed uncomfortably. Lydia scoffed. Dr. Willis continued. 

“That being said, why don’t you each say something you’re afraid of regarding your relationship. It could be anything from something you’re afraid will happen in the future or something you’re afraid someone will think.”

“I’ll go first.”

Stiles offered because he knew Lydia would probably have a harder time coming up with something suitable for Dr.Willis’ ears. Dr. Willis nodded. He scratched the back of his head and took a second to sort himself out before he started. 

“I guess I’m afraid of hurting Lydia. I don’t want to trap her in something that’s hurting her and-”

“The truth, Stiles.”

“Oh… um. Sorry. Sure. Yeah, okay. Just… it’s not going to make much sense.”

“As long as it makes sense to Lydia. But the truth. Go ahead.”

Stiles looked up at the ceiling. 

“I guess I’m afraid of being lost. I’ve been lost before and I’ve made it out because Lydia pulled me through. But if I’m on my own, really on my own, I might not make it back next time. I need an anchor for a lot, and I thought you did too, Lyds. But if I go somewhere I can’t get back… and no one comes to get me… what happens then?” 

The ceiling seemed to warp and flex into the shape of a gloved hand reaching out for him. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face, seeing Dr. Willis write on her notepad through his fingers. 

“Lydia, did you know?”

“I… no. Kind of. It makes sense considering some things that happened to us, how we got together.”

“And what about you?”

“Me?”

“Your fear.”

“I’m afraid of a lot. It’s overwhelming sometimes. That’s why I want to go.”

“Can you put a name to one thing, related to you and Stiles?”

“I suppose… I’m afraid he’s going to die and it will be my fault.”

Dr. Willis’ pen froze in place. The room went silent except for the ticking of that stupid minimalist clock. Stiles held his breath.

She was worried _she_ was going to kill _him_. It wasn’t that funny.

He burst out laughing anyway.

Lydia raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

“Stiles, I’m serious.”

Dr. Willis set her pen down.

“Is there anything particularly funny about that?”

Stiles hiccuped through the end of the laugh. 

“No, no, she could totally kill me, that’s not the gag.”

Stiles swung his legs over to face Lydia. The leather squeaked. Lydia pursed her lips.

“Lyds. Come on. I go into work to deal with a lot worse than you. You’re scary, hon, don’t get me wrong. You’re just not at the top of my list of bad actors. Who cares if I die and it’s your fault? I could die any other day too. I could faceplant on the sidewalk and get hit by a clown car today. Why does it matter to you? You’re leaving me behind anyway.”

“Of course it fucking matters! You matter, Stiles. I just- You were there in junior year, senior year too. Things would get bad and I would get involved and it would get worse. How am I supposed to live with myself if that happens now? Scott and Jackson aren’t here to save us. What if I see one of your team go down and you die trying to stop it? What if something comes to find me and you lay yourself down first? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t. We don’t have a pack anymore. You and me versus everything isn’t going to work!”

“Goddamnit Lydia! I’m not asking you to pick up a fucking glock and walk into a gun fight. I know shit gets real life-or-death around us real fast, but I don’t think you’ve been paying attention to me at all lately. I’m not a teenager anymore! I have a whole team whose whole job is to swoop in and save the day if I fuck up. I don’t need you to save me from myself and I’m not asking you to watch me die. I’m just asking you to give me one good reason why you can’t love me-”

“That’s the problem.”

“What?”

“It hurts. Loving you like this hurts. I told you, I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“Loving…?”

Dr. Willis tapped her pencil on the desk. Stiles had forgotten she was there, too wrapped up in Lydia’s turned down eyebrows and pouting mouth. He hadn’t kissed her in too long. If he ever got to kiss her again, he’d do it properly. He wouldn’t take a second for granted. Did she really just say she loved him?

“I think that’s a good spot to pause. Let's just take a breath and a moment to reflect.”

Stiles and Lydia shuffled back in their chairs to face Dr. Willis at the exact same time. Stiles’ mind felt like a bloodhound on a scent. He followed his thoughts through loops and permutations trying to find his way back to the way Lydia said loving, present tense. There was a stretch of exactly 7.5 seconds of quiet before Dr. Willis spoke again. 

“There’s a quote I read recently in regards to emotional pain. It said ‘there are two types of pain; the pain of growing and the pain of stagnation’. I might ask you which one you’re both feeling. One of the worst parts about experiencing life as a human is the pain. It’s also a big proponent of emotions like relief and rest and contentment. You can’t have one without the other. Still, let’s move onto gratitude. We’ve only got a few minutes left.”

Huh. Time flew when they were having a fight. Stiles clapped his hands together, suddenly eager to get this done and get back to his case. 

“Welp. Lydia, darlin’, I can’t say I’m grateful for all that much at this particular moment. I _am_ grateful that you decided to take a chance on me. You’re the best bad thing that ever happened to me and I’m glad it did. I’m glad we gave it a shot.”

It came out in an unexpectedly nonchalant tone. Stiles expected the words would come out a little rougher. Still, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little satisfied to see Lydia bite her red lip uncertainly. 

“And Lydia? Do you have anything to share?”

Lydia took a shaking breath. She faced Stiles like she was facing something much worse.

“Yes. I’m grateful for all that you’ve given to me. I’m grateful for the time and the care and the love. I noticed it all, even if you think I didn’t. I am grateful we had something really special, even if I can’t have it anymore. I’m grateful that you didn’t let me go so easy, even though I kind of hate that you didn’t. I would do the same though if you were leavi-”

Lydia seemed to catch herself, putting a hand to her mouth to stop the words coming out. Stiles blinked at her. Dr. Willis cut off Stiles before he could dig into that last point.

“And that’s my time. It’s been a perspective-broadening experience to meet you both. If you would like to book another appointment, which would greatly benefit you both, please see Mary on the way out. If not, take some time to reflect on what was said today. Remember, no matter what the future might hold, you have each other.”

Stiles thought that was a weird thing for a therapist to say, but he didn’t go to med school or wherever Dr. Willis went to get that fancy paper on the wall. 

“Thanks for helping us out. Have a good one.”

Stiles’ back cracked as he stood up. As a show of maturity he didn’t immediately ask if Lydia heard that one. She got to her feet with a little more hesitation, sharp eyes flicking between him and Dr. Willis suspiciously.

“Thank you… have a nice day.”

Dr. Willis nodded and went back to scribbling on her notepad. Stiles couldn’t help but glance at it as he walked out. Ha. No way. It was all just doodles of blocks and circles. No words or notes or even a helpful drawing. He couldn’t believe his insurance didn’t cover this. 

Lydia followed him out into the hall, shoes clicking firmly on the marble. Stiles turned to face her, walking backwards 

“What is it, Lyds? You’re glaring a hole in the back of my head.”

“I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get?”

“That’s it? That’s really all there is? You’re not waiting to pull the rug out from me or trick me?”

“Jeez, you really think I'm the Joker? No wonder you want a divorce.”

“I know how you fight to win, Stiles. You use everything at your disposal and also everything that’s not. You don’t say ‘good game’ and walk off the field.”

“Hold that thought.”

Stiles settled the bill at the front desk. Lydia hit the down button on the elevator. The bell dinged. Stiles slipped in behind her just before the door shut. 

“How ‘bout this? You’ve won, fair and square. I lost. We did three sessions here and now they're done. I can see where you're coming from better than before because of it. I can understand why it wouldn't be right to stay together. That's all I'm walking away with. No tricks, no traps, no bad facepaint. Good game, Lydia.”

Stiles stuck out his hand. Lydia gave him a sour look, but shook his hand once anyway.

“Neither of us ever play fair.”

“You’re right about that. At least we’ll always have something in common.”

The elevator dinged. Lydia smiled sadly. 

"Can we be friends?"

"I don't think so, Lyds. Not this time. Take care."

Stiles walked away from the two ghosts caught in the warped walls of the elevator. He felt the weight of her eyes on his back the whole way to his Jeep.

He smiled too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Stiles' and Lydia's 'Breakfast At Tiffany's' is outsmarting monsters and then feeling guilty about it, but that's just me.


	5. Short Skirt/Long Jacket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an iconic Lydia Martin lab girl look.

Lydia couldn’t sleep. The springs in Johnny’s pull-out mattress creaked every time she shifted. Onto her back. Creak. Onto her side. Creak creak creak. Onto her stomach. Creak.

Orange light from the street filtered in over the tops of the curtains and splashed across the ceiling in a puddle of spite. Lydia would’ve liked to be a witch just then. She could cast a spell to put herself to sleep. She could cast a spell to calm her spinning brain. 

She looked at her suitcase as if looking at her problem head on would simplify this mess. There, lying on top of it, taunting her, was Stiles’ grey fleece sweater. Lydia hadn’t meant to bring it with her. It must have just slipped in. She glared at the sweater. It didn’t glare back. 

Because it was just a sweater. 

Lydia could imagine how it would feel to put on. It would be soft against her bare neck, worn smooth from use. It would stop the cold draft coming from the kitchen from raising goosebumps on her arms. It would smell like home. 

It was just a sweater. 

Lydia physically shook her head and turned over again. She wasn’t going to wallow in her grief all night long. She had tests to run and investors to charm in the morning. She had a life to pack up. She wasn’t going to let a little cold and a little noise keep her from getting a good rest. 

A siren in the street below nearly jolted her out of her skin. 

Lydia put on the sweater. 

When she closed her eyes again, she dreamed of something brighter than the night.

**********

“Thank you for joining me today. We hope you feel as excited for the future as we are here at EN-Tech.”

The smile felt brittle on Lydia’s face. She wasn’t excited for the future. Prepared for it, maybe. Still, she had a job to do as head of their development department and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to lock down this trust fund kid and his money.

The trust fund kid in question looked her up and down with a revolting grin. Lydia accepted his handshake graciously and didn’t let her smile slip until he was directed out the door by her assistant. Then she sat down hard on her office chair and kicked off her shoes. She hated her tour shoes. They made her legs look fantastic, but she cursed them in her head every step she took. 

Yes, she could dress like the high level physicist she was and wear loafers and tweed. But. She was all too familiar with this particular ugly truth. The only ones who listened to her when she wore sneakers were her lab techs and maybe a woman or two in the tour group. She needed everyone’s attention if she was going to get shit done. She happened to have a very attention grabbing pair of legs. So there she sat with aching feet. 

The silence started pressing in on her with every throb of pain up her calves. Her assistant had shut the door behind her. With no greasy prospective investors, no busted spectrophotometer beeping bloody murder down the hall, Lydia was alone. She nearly took out her phone to text Stiles. She stopped her hand just before it opened their conversation. What would she tell him? ‘Hey, sorry I’m divorcing you, let me tell you how shitty my day is going so you can make me feel better’? Not likely. 

Instead, she saw she had got a text from her lawyer confirming if the papers would be sent over on Sunday. Lydia hadn’t replied. As far as divorces went, this one would be straightforward. Lydia’s mother had made them get a prenup and Stiles hadn’t batted an eye. They didn’t have a joint bank account or anything too tied up. They had gone halfsies on the apartment, but Lydia didn’t mind letting Stiles keep it all. She had enough to herself. The least she could do was let him keep his home. 

It would be simple, nearly painless. Stiles had pretty much conceded two days ago in the elevator. She had won. It was over. 

It should be over. 

Lydia didn’t feel like a winner. That goddamn psychologist got in her head. She’d never gotten along with psych majors in school because of their penchant for picking things apart. Lydia was more of a solver, more of a builder. She didn’t like to be picked apart. 

It felt like a strain to tight to bear, watching Stiles drive away. If he was her heart, what was twisting painfully in her chest when she thought about another night alone on a pullout couch? What was beating too fast against her ribs every time she thought about picking up the rest of her things and seeing him again?

A ping of an email notification startled Lydia out of her spiral. She wiped the tears she hadn’t realized she’d cried and got back to work. 

The rest of the day fell into place like a clear-cut forest. Lydia checked in on her lab team, tested new sensor models, and looked over data spreadsheets until it all bled together. She chatted with Johnny and the head of marketing over lunch. She sent a barrage of strongly worded emails to a few cold-footed investors. The sun went down and she barely noticed. 

Even though she was crashing at Johnny’s place until a suitable condo opened up, Lydia insisted on driving herself to and from work. It helped provide an air of professionalism even though it was likely nobody cared. So every day since she’d left ho- Stiles, she sat in traffic with the music loud and pretended she liked her own company on the way home. 

It was in the tail-end of rush hour that her music cut out and a call announced itself over the speakers. Unknown number, probably a robo call selling her a cruise. Lydia moved to dismiss it but her finger slipped to the accept call button on the screen. 

“Lydia? Is this Lydia Stilinski?”

The female voice that came through the speakers was unfamiliar. They sounded young. Nobody who Lydia knew called her that and none of her records held the name Stilinski.

“Who is this?”

“Oh thank god. It’s Steph, Stiles’ intern.”

Lydia didn’t know Stiles had an intern. The intern sounded a bit frantic.

“Why are you calling me, Steph? Stiles isn’t around right now. I’m in the car.”

“Yeah, I know. He said to call you.”

“Stiles said to call _me_?”

“Yeah, look lady, I’m freaking out and no one’s answering the phones and I know I’m not supposed to go to the police because then our other phone starts ringing and I’m pretty sure our contact in the regular FBI Boston branch is out because he’s not answering his phone-”

“Slow down. What’s going on? Start from the beginning.”

“Okay so Meg found something on our big case and the whole team went up to Salem three hours ago, even Jeremy. Stiles said they were going to check out some mine site. He left this little instruction sheet behind for emergencies. But the phone dial screens all say 'SOS' in all caps right now and the sheet says that means I have to call the FBI contact and if that doesn’t work to call someone named Scott and if that doesn’t work to call the New York supernatural division and if that didn’t work it said to call you. Your name was crossed off but I don’t know what else to do. Whoever Scott is has his phone off and the New York division can’t get to Salem for another three hours.”

“And you’re sure you don’t know anyone else who can help?”

“I’m nineteen, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing! Is ghostbusters a thing? I’ll call ghostbusters!”

“Goddamn it.”

“Does that mean they’re not real? Cuz I thought they were joking about the demon cult until this morning.”

“Demon cult? We ran into one back- nevermind, not relevant. Just send me the exact location they were targeting to this number and any supporting docs they were looking at before they left.”

“I’m not supposed to-”

“We’re at life or death right now, Steph. 'Supposed to' goes out the window when we get to life or death.”

“Okay, shit, okay! Sending it all over now.”

“Cheers.”

Lydia hung up and took the nearest on-ramp to the highway.

*********

_One hour earlier_

“You’re sure?”

“The next decommissioned copper mine is in Jersey, Stiles.”

“Ugh, fine, okay. Anything but Jersey. Let’s gear up.”

Stiles loaded his gun with iron bullets. He selected vials of mountain ash, wolfsbane, verveine, and hemlock from the storage bins in the back of the van and clipped them to his belt. He slid a branch of mistletoe into his kevlar vest pocket, checking that his stake and silver blade were still in their sleeves. 

Meg booted up the computers on their mobile support system behind the driver’s seat of the truck and her geiger counter. Jeremy drew protection symbols in squid ink over the little lumps of mountain ash he'd sewn into his skin years ago. It made Stiles a bit queasy whenever he forgot not to watch. Benny picked up an automatic rifle in one hand and a dog whistle in the other. 

“You know we’re likely looking at a coven, right?”

“Yeah, they could have a dog.”

“O- _kay_. I won't say it won't happen. That's just asking for it.”

"You know how it is, boss. Never say never."

Stiles opened the back door of the van. The cool autumn air swirled with grey dust. The setting sun cast a blaze in the autumn leaves whispering in the trees.

They were at a clearing halfway up the slope of a hill just outside the Salem town centre. Yesterday, Meg had finished analyzing the samples from Gary Oldman’s car tires. Apparently there had been unusually high traces of mineral copper which didn’t match the soil profile for anywhere in Massachusetts. The soil would have come off the tires on the highway, so they’d started looking at the area around where they’d found the car. Stiles dug into the folklore while Benny went to talk to the vic’s family for any connections to Gary Oldman for the third time. 

It was actually Steph who’d found the mine. She’d seen some public snapchat stories about the views from the top of the hill and the creepy open mine shafts along the tunnels. Stiles dug up a whole whack of missing persons cases dating back to the early 1900’s. Operational or not, that mine had been disappearing people before the FBI was a sparkle in a particular paranoid attorney general’s eye. 

That settled it. They had their starting point. 

Today was supposed to be a recon mission. They went in, checked for supernatural boogiemen and took as many samples as they could carry. It was a rare day if they got to the sample-collecting stage before the boogiemen made themselves known. Stiles and is all-human team were sparks and that meant the bad things always beelined for them. It was great for case turnover, bad for his heart health. He hoped that the murderer, or murderers as it would seem to be, weren’t proponents of jump-scares. Maybe a monologue or two. He appreciated a classic bad-guy monologue.

The gravel crunched loudly under their feet as they approached the dark entrance to the mine carved out of the face of the rock, halfway up the hill. Stiles thought the bright yellow ‘Keep Out’ signs were festive. 

The team switched on their headlamps as they entered the mine. They followed the remnants of a cart track into the gloom. 

The rusted tracks soon turned to occasional lumps of metal. Veins of blue oxidized copper lined the tunnel walls. There were rotten wooden beams bracing the walls and ceiling every ten feet. The only noises were the crush of rocks under their boots, the soft beeping from Meg’s geiger counter, and Jeremy’s whistling.

“D’you have to whistle, Jer?”

“I thought I would add some ambiance.”

“You gonna romance the cult? Whistling is demon bait, you ever watch a movie?”

“I’ve been rereading Dante’s Inferno, that count?”

“Nevermind.”

Stiles paused. His team stopped and immediately fanned out behind him. 

There was an entrance to another section to the mine, just off the tracks. The rocks on the track ahead were coated in a fine layer of slime, like they hadn’t been overturned in a long time. The rocks going into the entrance to the left were rough as if they’d been turned up by stepping feet more recently. 

“This is the one.”

Stiles stepped forward and found himself spun around, facing the team. He frowned. He hadn’t meant to turn around. It was almost as if the entry had repelled him away. 

“Jer, what do you got for me?”

Jeremy stepped forward and performed the same action, spinning away from the doorway as if he decided to go another direction. 

“It’s not a mind spell or a protective ward. It’s something simpler. Low power, but effective.”

Jeremy started inspecting the wood of the beams bracing the entryway. 

“Aha!”

Jeremy tapped a spot on the wood and Stiles crowded in to see. There were little markings scratched into the wood. There was something familiar about them. They weren’t gaelic or old latin or greek. They weren’t any of the dead or demonic languages Stiles had seen over the years. Still, he was sure he’d seen them before…

“Meg, bring up the runes on the first vic?”

Meg held out her phone nearly instantly, the picture already loaded. Stiles zoomed right in on the clearest frame. The runes were stark red against the pale pink of the woman’s sternum. They weren’t exactly the same, but different combinations of squares and circles. A feeling of intense uneasiness swept through Stiles. 

There was another place he’d seen these squares and circles. 

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection as soon as he saw them, but now was not the time to kick himself. Stiles handed the phone back to Meg.

“So how are we getting through this thing, Jer?”

Jeremy held out his hand.

“A bit of mistletoe should do it.”

Stiles handed him the twig from his sleeve.

“Now Jeremy, you know how I feel about-”

Jeremy gouged a line through the runes with the base of the mistletoe twig.

“-fucking with witchy shit. Okay, you know what? You’re going first.”

Jeremy lifted his hands in surrender. Stiles snatched the mistletoe back and pointed to the tunnel. Jeremy took a step towards it. 

And another. 

Nothing happened. The tunnel didn’t collapse, the ground didn’t open up. Stiles and the rest of the team followed one by one. 

It was colder in this section of the mine. The air was damp and stagnant. The sound of their breathing ricocheted off the walls like a rush of a tide. 

Stiles heard something else too. At first it was faint, then it grew to a distinct sound.

“That’ll be the chanting. Recon only, observe, record, retreat, got it?”

The team nodded, Benny a bit hesitant. Stiles knew he wouldn’t fall out of line, even if he did want to knock some skulls. 

The team automatically went to creeping mode. They switched their headlamps off and stuck to the wall of the tunnel. It was dark without the lamps, but not pitch black as it should’ve been. There was light up ahead, flickering red. Stiles hoped these dumbasses didn’t actually have an open flame in a powder keg of natural gas. 

He placed the chanting as the same spell Gary Oldman had said before he bled that poor man dry.

“ _Pellem pro pelle. Os ad os. Medulla est adipe. Sanguine sanguis. Animam pro anima._ ”

The last bit was new. Stiles was pretty sure they were talking about animating something. 

Jeremy reached the end of the tunnel and stopped. Stiles craned his neck around Jeremy’s shoulder to see. 

The tunnel opened up to a cavernous space. Sure enough, there was a fire. The flames burned deep red instead of orange. The black smoke rose up through an opening at the top of the cavern, maybe the top of the mountain. Night had fallen, so Stiles doubted any locals would be reporting a forest fire. 

Five figures in black hooded robes stood equidistance around the blazing fire pit. Stiles recognized the stance of the one furthest away from them and fought back another round of nausea. He hadn’t seen her walking much, but he knew her by the broad curve of her shoulders. So stupid. He was so stupid. 

Right. No beating himself up until he was out the other side. 

On the ground between each figure, there was a small glass orb with circles and squares carved into the sides. One was full of dark red liquid, one with something pink and fleshy pressed against its sides, one with something the exact same skin tone as the vic with the markings, and one bone white. Stiles felt a stab of dread looking at the last empty orb. They needed one more thing. 

His mind raced. They had blood, and organs, and skin, and bone. They were animating something. But what? What was special about this place anyway? Sure, it was a nice and creepy hideout for a bunch of nice and creepy folk. But there were always church basements. Why the fire, why the chanting? Why Salem?

He spotted something he hadn’t before as one of the figures swayed to the side. There was a dish beside the fire. It held three things. The first was a piece of old paper, maybe parchment, with looping handwriting across it. The paper looked like some kind of certificate, birth or death, Stiles wasn’t sure. The second item was a small piece of wood, as if it were torn from a floorboard. The third item was a piece of black cloth. 

Stiles had seen something like this. A mourning daughter or a distraught husband. A kid with a powerful ouija board or a widow at her last straw. They were raising someone from the dead. Someone who had died here. If the sacrificial murder was anything to go by, Stiles did not want to meet them. 

He lowered his hand to his mountain ash. He eased out the lid. 

“Wait.”

One of the hooded figures to the left stopped chanting. Stiles held his breath. Benny pressed back against the wall. 

“Intruders!”

The same hooded figure pulled a smaller glass orb painted in the squares and circles, and smashed it on the ground. White smoke poured from the glass, rapidly spreading across the ground. The others around the fire donned gas masks and started fleeing towards the tunnel. 

Stiles swore and gestured for his team to retreat. This wasn’t garden witchcraft and they didn’t bring their gas masks. The only way to get out alive was to get out fast. 

They didn’t get far. 

Stiles looked back in the dim light to see the haze of fog overtake Jeremy. Stiles raced into blackness. He couldn’t see Benny or Meg up ahead. Just flat black nothingness. 

Stiles fished his phone out of his pocket. His legs seized. As he went down, he hit the power button four times. The code Meg programmed in his phone was supposed to send an SOS to his home base and everyone in it. 

It wasn't a sure bet. Maybe the rock was too thick for the signal. Maybe Steph didn’t check the phones and everyone had gone home. Maybe nobody came. 

He wondered if Lydia would cry if he didn’t make it. Maybe she would find someone new to walk her through the grief. 

Maybe she wouldn’t care at all. 

Stiles lost himself to oblivion.


	6. The Big Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not apologize for cheesiness. I am unrepentant (͡ ͡° ͜ つ ͡͡°)

Lydia jumped out of her car and slammed the door behind her. She landed hard on her sneakers she kept in the back for emergencies and took off at a light jog. 

The mine was creepy with the new moon casting no light on the rubble around the entrance. Lydia reasoned Stiles had chased her to creepier places. At least there were no employees here. A little less complicated without a crowd. She turned on her phone flashlight and ducked into the tunnel. 

Lydia's brain caught up with her actions a few feet into the pitch darkness of the tunnel. She paused. Mines were big places. Historically, closed-pit mines had miles of tunnels, even the oldest ones in the country. Lydia couldn’t just walk in and expect to stumble into someone sooner or later. 

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, embracing the utter darkness. Usually, she kept this part of her power closed up tight. There was a good reason for it. She reached for the part of her that was more monster than human. It surfaced with a sigh. As her mind combed through the passages of the mine for signs of life, ghosts emerged from the stone itself. There were mine workers, lost pets, and curious teenagers. There were more. They reached out for her, screaming through the end of their lives over and over. There was some power in this hill, something keeping them here. They should have passed on long ago. What was in the mine? Lydia pushed past their grasping hands, growing frantic. Where was her spark? Where was her human?

She pushed deeper into the mine, sending her senses through walls of earth. 

There.

She felt a pulse in her chest, beating next to her own heart. The pulse was frighteningly faint, but quick. Someone was scaring her spark. Lydia slipped back into her body with a snarl and took off running.

The light from her phone barely illuminated the ground just ahead. The pulse led her around a corner to another tunnel. Lydia ducked under a low handing beam and nearly bowled right into a man. She skidded to a stop and turned to run the other way.

“Lydia! Wait!”

The man hissed a whisper. Lydia spun to face him, shining the flashlight in his face. He flinched back and lifted a hand to block the light.

“Jeremy?”

“Yeah. The whole team’s down in there, it’s not pretty. My sew-ins woke me up before they scooped me, but they’ve got the rest. You better get to stepping.”

“The hell I am. Stiles is in there. How many- who are we dealing with?”

“Witches, or at least people with a bunch of magic objects. Five of them.”

“That’s not so bad.”

It really wasn't. Lydia rolled her shoulders back and took a step. Jeremy grabbed her arm roughly.

“Lydia, you can’t go in there. They’re dangerous.”

“Yeah, and so am I. If I were you, I’d get to stepping.”

Lydia threw his words back in his face and broke free of his grip. Five witches. She could take five witches. To save Stiles, she could probably take thirty. Lydia forged down the passage. A moment later, she heard Jeremy scramble to follow.

She heard Stiles before she saw him.

“So let me get this straight, you know for fun, before you kill me. You’re trying to raise the spirit of Margaret Jones, the most powerful witch who’s ever made it to North America and who coincidentally has a vendetta against the entire eastern seaboard? Why?”

“Silence!”

It was a man’s voice. A familiar timbre. 

“Gary, buddy, you work in PetSmart. You can just tell me to shut up, most people do. This isn't 'Shakespeare in the Park'.”

Lydia crept up to the edge of the tunnel. 

“Shut up.”

Lydia saw a massive cavern with a burning fire. She saw black robes and glass orbs. She saw Benny and Meg laying prone beside Stiles who bled from his cheek and forehead. She saw the hand of the man she'd seen in the parking garage holding another glass orb above Stiles’ head. Stiles' glassy eyes darted around the room as if taking stock of every little detail. He probably was.

“So I see you’ve got most of a body ready to go, at least parts she might put together in a shape that suits her, amirite? I am right, aren't I. Okay, so what goes in the last one. Not a goldfish, I’m guessing. Maybe something more? She’s obviously got power, or you wouldn’t be bothering with all the chanting-”

“Shut up!”

“-but I did put a few things together while I was taking an impromptu nap. All of your vics did have one thing in common. They all graduated from a high school, right here in Salem, class of 2002. I didn’t think it was important until I went lullaby, thanks for that by the way, my head kills. Anyway, there was another link wasn’t there?”

“Shut UP!”

Gary kicked at Stiles in the side, hard. Stiles’ wince turned into a grin.

“They were all part of the magic club, weren’t they? And so were you, and her, and him, and him, weren’t you?”

Stiles pointed to three of the hooded figures who stiffened in turn. The last one didn’t move an inch. Stiles continued.

“All bullied in high school, all with something to prove and a world to burn. Got your hands on one of ol' Maggie's spell book at some yard sale, right? Or did you go looking for it? Eh, doesn't really matter. So maybe you need one more thing before you sacrifice another member of your little club. Is it a soul? Ohhhh I bet it's a soul, willingly given and all that. Dead people love that shit. But what I don’t get is why you’re here, Dr. Willis.”

The final figure lifted their hood. It fell away softly onto their back, revealing that stern, yet soft face of the couple’s counsellor. Lydia’s brain glitched as the recognition set in. What was going on?

“Aha! I knew it was you!”

Dr. Willis ignored Stiles and looked directly at the spot Lydia was hiding. 

“Any time now would be lovely, Lydia.”

“SHUT UP!”

Lydia saw the man move to drop the orb over Stiles. 

Lydia saw red. 

The scream burst like a geyser. There was no warning, no time to process the intricacy of the situation. The scream was brute force. Lydia chased it down, trying to bend it into a weapon, trying to force it away from Stiles and his team. The orbs shattered in quick succession. Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack. The glass fell harmlessly. The blood pooled over the rocks. The bones clattered, a skeleton sprung from nearly nothing. The black hoods fell away from the figures as they clutched at their ears, blood trickling between their fingers. Lydia didn’t dare look over at Stiles, she didn’t want to see herself hurting him. 

The scream ended with a ragged growl. Lydia and Dr. Willis were the only ones left standing. Lydia wasn’t sure how the other woman had stayed on her feet.

“We don’t have much time. They started the summoning ritual. Margaret Jones is coming, body or not. She'll take a soul if they don't give it.”

As if on cue, the fire blazed up. The red flames licked the ceiling of the cavern. The heat was immediately unbearable. Lydia’s throat went dry. The flames started taking form. First a head, then arms and shoulders and a sweeping dress. A woman on fire. 

“Holy shit.”

Stiles. Lydia stumbled over to Stiles who was propped up against a bolder. He smiled at her warmly. And a bit dazed.

“Lyds, gotta say you look good on the rocks. I gotta be honest though, my hallucinations of you usually don't have Jeremy in them.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. 

“Stiles, focus. What do we do? The spirit of a legendary witch is literally rising from the ashes.”

“Ash.”

“What, mountain ash? Stiles, you can’t walk.”

“It’s not about walking. I just need Jeremy’s latin and you to keep it busy.”

“Stiles, I can’t-”

A ball of fire exploded against the wall next to them. Lydia threw herself over Stiles, feeling the ends of her hair singe. A distinctly unfriendly cackle came from the fire pit. 

Stiles touched Lydia’s cheek with the tips of his fingers. 

“You can do anything you want to, Lyds.”

Lydia stood, the feeling of Stiles’ hand on her skin pull her spine straight. She jerked her head at Jeremy, who’d been cautiously sizing up the fire-witch from the corner. He made a dash for Stiles. Lydia stepped out in front of them both, facing down the burned witch.

Lydia lifted her hands and screamed. 

The witch reeled back from the blast of it, bending over to cover the spot where her ears would be. Lydia screamed and the witch cowered. 

Until. 

Lydia ran out of air. The witch didn’t waste any time. She drew back and another fireball formed in her hand. Lydia drew in a breath to scream. 

Just as the fireball left the witches hand and Lydia began to scream again, Dr. Willis lifted her hand. The fireball veered off course from where Lydia stood in front of Jeremy and Stiles. Not completely the wrong direction, but a few degrees beyond a direct hit. 

The fire witch screamed in frustration and whirled to face Dr. Willis, hands over her ears.

“YOU TURN ON YOUR SISTER? YOU DENY ME MY VENGEANCE?”

Lydia took a breath. Dr. Willis faced Margaret Jones with impressive composure. 

“Those who betrayed you are long dead. The new world has become old again. Lay yourself to rest, Maggie.”

The fire witch moaned in frustration and whipped a fireball at Dr. Willis. Again, Dr. Willis lifted her hand and the fireball veered off course. Then the witch threw another, and another. They burst in deafening crashes against the walls ove the cavern. The witch moved with speed beyond Lydia's vision, hit after hit after hit. Each one got closer to their target than the last. Dr. WIllis wasn’t going to be able to keep deflecting forever. Lydia needed to try something else, the direct attacks weren’t working as well as they did on humans. She wasn't one for fighting fair anyway.

Margaret Jones was angry, yes. But she’d been betrayed by her whole community. There was sadness that came with that kind of betrayal, the kind when the people you trust most turn on you. Heartbreak. Lydia could do heartbreak. 

She drew up a scream low in her belly. She worked it over, smoothing the edges as it surfaced. A hot tear slipped down her cheek. The sound that came out felt like devastation. It was a pain that couldn’t be fixed with a binding. It was a hurt like losing a lover. 

The witch froze mid-throw. Her face was hard to pick out in the burning embers of her form. Lydia thought she saw a flash of longing across the witch’s eyes. 

Lydia softened the scream as it filled the space, echoing against the walls. She didn't stop for air. She let herself become the sound.

Then Stiles joined in. Not screaming, but chanting. 

It wasn’t English. It was something old and smooth. A cloud of dark dust blew past Lydia. Mountain ash. It drifted to the fire pit. Where it landed, the embers on the witch’s body went cold. The witch didn't twitch or cry out. She just stood there, lost in her sadness. Lydia turned the scream softer. She thought of sleep and rest. She thought of peace.

Margaret Jones began to shrink in size. It was… working. Stiles chanted and Jeremy blew mountain ash and Margaret Jones shrunk. At first a little bit, then suddenly all at once. 

The cavern went dark. Lydia’s scream cut off sharply. Silence fell like a hanging ax. 

“S-stiles?”

“I’m here, Lyds.”

Lydia fished out her phone and switched on the flashlight. The thin light fell upon four cowering people in robes, Meg and Benny, still unconscious, and Stiles and Jeremy crouched behind her.

“Where’s Dr. Willis?”

Stiles scoffed and it echoed hollowly against the rock.

“I don’t believe that woman has a medical degree.”

God, he was a smartass sometimes. He was her smartass. 

Stiles and Jeremy switched on their headlamps and the room got a little brighter. Lydia almost preferred the firelight to the harsh white glare. One of the figures on the ground whimpered. Lydia wondered if she’d killed any of them. It would have been an accident. Or at least, not her intention. 

The distant sound of boot-falls snapped Lydia out of her thoughts. 

“The cavalry’s comin’. Get me up, Jer.”

Jeremy scrambled to pull Stiles to his feet. Stiles winced and nearly fell back down. Jeremy caught him again and pulled his arm over his shoulder. Lydia supposed she’d always thought of Stiles as a skinny kid. Looking at Jeremy struggling to hold him up, Stiles was nothing like she remembered. His face was the same, grinning determinedly through what Lydia assumed was a fair amount of pain. 

It wasn’t necessarily his face that she was noticing. 

When did his shoulders get so broad? When did the muscles on his arms fill out? Since when had he been working hard at the gym instead of moaning about coming last string in lacrosse? What had she been doing while he was walking around looking like _this_?

Stiles caught her eye and winked. Lydia blushed to spite herself. 

The sound of boots on rock filled the cavern. The source of the noise rounded the corner, headlamps flashing, guns drawn. There was a team of seven or eight people in full tactical gear. Gas masks and goggles obscured their faces. A sliver of fear shuddered down Lydia's spine. She edged her shoulder out in front of Stiles.

“Thanks for joining us.”

Stiles said it with no small hint of sarcasm. The person leading the group took off their helmet and goggles. It was a woman with long black hair tied back in a slick ponytail. She was beautiful with a soft round nose and intense almond shaped eyes. Lydia chided herself for being caught off-guard. Allison would be leading a team like that if she were still alive. 

“Stilinski, seems like you’ve got everything under control.”

The woman said it like an inside joke. It made Stiles’ mouth twist up. Lydia felt something get tight in her stomach. She shuffled aside and gave them some space. 

“Eh, you know how it is, Park. Your PR disaster is my job-well-done.”

The woman, Park, laughed and walked up to Stiles and Jeremy while the rest of her crew started apprehending the dazed magic club members. Lydia felt her lips purse. 

“Glad to see you right on track, in that case. What’s the damage?”

“The team got hit with some kind of temporary paralytic. I’m getting some feeling back in my legs so I think we’ll be fine. I’ve got a bit of tolerance from a few run-ins with a Kanima back in the day and Jer’s got some sew-ins, but Meg and Benny should probably hit the med team to flush it. The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse probably won’t be able to hear for a few days, but I’ll set them up in the Boston home base until they’re ready to talk.”

“What happened to them?”

Stiles’ eyes flicked to Lydia briefly. Lydia gave him a pleading look. Stiles shrugged.

“We got a hand from a woman on the inside. It got pretty loud.”

Park eyed Lydia suspiciously. Lydia did her best impression of a breathless bystander. She was a good liar. Another thing she and Stiles would always have in common.

“Who’s this? Not one of yours, right?”

Jeremy snorted and Stiles elbowed him in the gut.

“This is… Lydia. Not an agent, just a bit unlucky.”

Park shook her head as if to let them know she was letting it go for now. 

“Fine. My analyst said this place is pretty unstable. I imagine the noise and disturbance isn’t helping so we should probably regroup outside.”

An agent hoisted Meg over their shoulder. Two other agents lifted Benny between them. The hooded figures had already been escorted out in cuffs. Stiles adjusted his grip on Jeremy’s neck. 

“I'll call this in, close off the area to the locals, get the perps through first-aid and into their cozy new cells. Gotta chase down our missing link, too.”

Lydia tucked under his other shoulder, wrapping the crook of his arm around her neck.

“Someone else can do that. Or do it tomorrow at least. Take a minute, you're still hurt.”

“I agree with ginger here. You can have a break, Stilinski. Besides, your intern already got in touch with SPD to set up a perimeter and road blocks. No one in or out without your say so.”

Lydia didn’t like Park's nickname for her, but she did like when people said she was right. 

“Steph did all that?”

Stiles smiled triumphantly at Jeremy’s incredulous tone. 

“She’s my protege, I expected nothing less.”

They all gave him skeptical looks, Lydia included. 

An unnerving tumble of gravel fell between Lydia and Park. Stiles craned his neck to the ceiling and took a tight breath. 

“Come on then slackers. Pitter patter.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and the three of them started their long limp back to the surface. 

Styles gave Park the rundown of events on the way, from the murders dating back three months, to the banishment of Margaret Jones. He conveniently omitted Lydia’s involvement from the story, for the most part. In this version, Lydia was his close friend who happened to get swept up in the chaos. Lydia appreciated that Jeremy didn’t try to correct it. 

The scene they found at the mine entrance was a sight different from the one Lydia had left. There were transport vans and flashing red lights and yellow tape. Meg and Benny were being loaded into an ambulance, conscious, but drowsy. 

Stiles, Park, and Jeremy worked out the rest of the logistics. Jeremy would follow the transport van back to the Boston headquarters and make sure the perpetrators were treated for their injuries and locked up tight. Park would oversee the cleanup of the mine site. Stiles would be taken home by Lydia if he was cleared by the paramedics. Stiles composed himself like the medical check up was the highest stake of the night. Lydia laughed at his stoic demeanor as he did his best to walk without help. He weaved and wobbled like he was eight drinks deep.

“Oh yeah, real convincing.”

“Hey! I’m pretty much fine, just a few scrapes, a bit of pins and needles going on.”

“I have no idea what you're gonna tell them. Are these… regular paramedics?”

“Nah, we’ve got at least one division in every emergency response sector who are in on the joke. Most of these guys treat infected vampire bites and that kind of thing.”

Stiles greeted the paramedics at the ambulance like old friends. Lydia bet they were well acquainted by now, they must have been through a few stressful situations together. She’d never really seen this side of Stiles. The last time she’d worked with the supernatural division, Stiles had been chasing loose ends all alone and getting in trouble with his boss for improvising. Now he knew everyone’s name and commanded their respect without raising his voice, except to laugh. He chatted with the paramedics and the agents from the other team with the same easy confidence. He was almost… professional. 

Stiles eventually was cleared to leave with a few butterfly bandages and a leg massage for circulation. He did a few experimental jump squats to prove he could walk. The last one he nearly wiped out as he landed and swore as he caught himself on the ambulance door. Even half-conscious Benny on the stretcher inside chuckled at that. 

Then the top of the hill collapsed. There was a loud rumble, a tremor on the ground. Everyone froze in their tracks. There was a sound like a crush of gravel louder than anything Lydia had heard, except for herself. The silhouette of the top of the hill caved in. There was a blast of dust from the mouth of the mine and a settling of loose pebbles. 

Margaret Jones had been laid to rest. Lydia hoped all the trapped spirits in the tunnels had moved on too.

The site burst into activity. Ambulance doors slammed and engines revved. A few of Park's tactical team argued with each other about getting seismic readings. Stiles took a step towards them. Lydia grabbed him by the beltloop.

"Let's go. There's nothing more there. She's gone."

"But-"

"Stiles. Are you a geologist?"

"Okay, alright. Just because you came all this way."

Lydia opened the car door for him and he loudly proclaimed that chivalry wasn’t dead. 

Then it was just the two of them. 

Lydia pulled away from the mine site and started down the dirt road back to Salem. Stiles fiddled with the air controls, then the music, then the seat warmers. Lydia didn’t complain. She was used to his nastiness after a fight, when the adrenaline still ran in his veins. She could still feel her heart beating a little too fast. It would settle down soon. Probably. 

“Nice that no one died this time, huh Lyds?”

“That’s a pretty low bar.”

“Yeah.”

They wound through the quiet streets of Salem and accelerated onto the highway. Stiles let out a long breath. Lydia couldn’t tell if he was glad it was over or disappointed. She kept her eyes on the road. 

“Lydia?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you come?”

Lydia’s heart stuttered in her chest. She knew why she came. Suddenly the space felt too small, too close, like Stiles was breathing in her ear. She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel.

“Can we talk about this at home?”

“Are you going to run?”

“I don’t know. I just need a minute.”

“Okay.”

Stiles turned up the radio and they watched the night fall under the tires without another word. 

Stiles got out on his own when Lydia parked in front of their place. He really did seem better. She wasn’t sure if he was hiding any more pain from her, but he moved normally as they walked up the steps and he punched in the door code. 

They rode up in the elevator. Lydia saw Stiles sneak a glance at her out of the corner of her eye. She stole a glance of her own when he looked away. He seemed fine. Really fine. 

He opened the door to their apartment. He put the key into the lock and turned until there were two clicks. He pulled the door towards him, waiting for the latch release, and then turned the handle. 

Stiles stepped aside and Lydia went in first. He flicked on the lights. They both kicked off their muddy shoes on the front hall carpet. Stiles wandered into the kitchen and filled two glasses of water. Lydia went around the far side of the island and took a seat on the middle bar stool. Stiles slid her glass across the granite countertop. Lydia remembered picking that granite for the kitchen. She’d wanted something with flecks of gold. When they came they’d looked more silver and she’d been disappointed. Silver was better. It fit the room.

Lydia chugged the whole glass. Stiles wordlessly refilled it. Lydia slowed down on the second one. All the fire and screaming had apparently worked up a bit of thirst. Lydia watched Stiles watch her warily. She realized he still thought she was going to bolt. Leave him alone after watching him nearly die for the thousandth time? Not likely. 

“Do you want to talk about it now?”

He asked the question slowly, haltingly. Lydia put down her glass. 

“I can tell it's bothering you. Just- fine. Sure.”

“I mean, you said you were done with all the fighting…?”

“I am over all the fighting, but what do you expect me to do? Ignore your SOS because I need space?”

“Well, yeah. Kind of. I tried to take you off the SOS list, for the record.”

“Jesus Christ! I’m not going to let some roadside magicians kill you because I’m scared. I won’t let anything take you away like that if I can help it.”

Lydia leaned on the edge of the counter and Stiles mirrored her, leaning across the kitchen island. His eyes were narrowed, maybe in thought, maybe in anger. Lydia hoped it was anger. If he was thinking, he'd find her out. She had no idea what she wanted well enough to talk about it. Her head hurt from her own personal game of tug of war.

“Now I’m confused! Last week you were all 'if you love me let me go’ and I did that and now you suddenly want to jump in the literal line of fire? What gives?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Stiles. It’s insulting.”

“Pretend?! I would love to know what the fuck is going on so I _could_ be pretending!”

“I said I don’t want to watch you die and I meant it. I love you more than anything else in the world, I’m just doing a shitty job of letting you go.”

“What the FUCK, Lyds?!”

“Stop YELLING AT ME!”

“I’M NOT MAD, I’M CONFUSED!”

“FIGURE IT OUT!”

Lydia grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.


	7. FUBT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucked Up But True
> 
> This chapter might get a bit male-gaze-y. It's a bad habit when I write male POVs, idk how to female-gaze scenes like this. Lmk in the comments if you have any suggestions!

Lydia thought about pulling away, apologizing, and leaving with only a dent in her dignity for a second. It was a short second. Stiles kissed her back and she forgot about thinking altogether.

His hands found the sides of her neck. Her hips found the edge of the counter. She wanted more than this. She didn’t feel bad for wanting more. She was nearly left with nothing at all tonight. She couldn’t think of a reason to stop that was better than Stiles’ lips sliding against her. 

And there it was again, the pesky kitchen island in the way. Lydia put one hand on the counter and swung her legs over the edge. A glass shattered on the floor. Neither of them flinched. Lydia was used to breaking glass and Stiles was used to giving her his rare undivided attention when it came down to the two of them alone. Lydia maneuvered herself over the counter until she sat with Stiles standing between her legs. She didn’t even need to break the kiss. They’d had practice. 

This was so much better. 

Lydia subconsciously categorized the way she felt. The feeling of nearly dying and getting out essentially unscathed? A good feeling. The feeling of realizing how hot her husband was _before_ he was out of reach? Pretty good feeling. The feeling of the length of his body pressed against her as she reclaimed him with her mouth? Really fucking good. 

And of course that’s when Stiles pulled away. 

His eyes and lips shone in the soft kitchen lighting. Lydia had a hard time reading that particular expression. It was somewhere between happy and sad, at the intersection of guilty and relieved. He had an expressive face, she could see it all but she didn't know what it meant.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are we doing?”

“Making out on the kitchen counter.”

“This isn’t right, Lyds. Not if you’re going to leave me.”

“Undecided.”

“Is this some test? Am I failing right now?”

“I just told you I love you more than anything in the world and we’re both not dead even though we probably should be. It’s not a test. It’s love, making it at least. If you want. I do.”

“This is fucked up, even for us. Against the Geneva Conventions of breaking up, or something.”

Lydia shrugged, “When is it not fucked up? We’ve both been possessed by demons and died and come back. This is a bit more straightforward than most things we’ve done.”

Stiles placed his hands on either side of her thighs on the counter. He was quiet for a second. Then, 

“No way but the hard way, huh?”

There was a look of mischief creeping into Stiles’ eyes. Lydia felt a shiver like anticipation. 

“That’s the only way I want it.”

“Fair enough.”

Lydia kissed him again. Stiles’ hands moved from the counter to her backside. He picked her up easily. Lydia’s legs went around his waist and they made their way down the hall, bumping into the wall as they went. Stiles laughed against her lips and Lydia felt herself smile. 

She bounced as she hit the bed. Stiles had never chucked her down like that before. Everything was always too careful and reverent before. She didn’t want to be revered, she wanted to be a person, just like him. 

Stiles watched her for a second with an unreadable expression. Lydia propped herself up on her elbows and blew a chunk of hair out of her face. 

“What?”

“This isn’t very fair. You know what you do to me.”

He didn’t sound at all upset about it. Lydia wanted to laugh, even if it wasn't all that funny. It was perfectly fair. She couldn’t think of anything except wanting him since she found him in the mine and realized what she’d been missing. 

“I know what I could do to you. Why don’t you come find out?”

Stiles apparently didn’t need any more convincing than that. Suddenly he was on top of her with that look of trouble in his eyes. Lydia felt a rush better than adrenaline. She tilted her chin, daring him. 

They met in the middle with a kiss that was hard and fast and messy. 

It felt a little bit like magic.

********

The jingling ring of his cellphone woke Stiles in the morning.

Something was off. His breaths were shallow. He was warmer than usual. Did he leave the heating on last night?

Last night…

The brrrring of the phone fell away. He remembered last night pretty clearly, except for a block somewhere in the middle. The wannabe witches, the actual witches, the flashing lights. 

There was a groan from the other side of the bed. 

Lydia. 

Stiles’ eyes flew open. The shapes and colours came out all fuzzy and dim. Stiles’ groggy brain took a minute to figure its way out of disorientation. Oh. There was a tangle of strawberry blond hair covering his face. Stiles blew it out of the way and breathing came easier. He saw the room clearly. There was a pile of clothes on the floor beside him, ringing incessantly. There were his black tactical cargo pants. There was a white bra. There was an arm slung over his chest with red painted fingernails.

The owner of that arm groaned and tucked her face further into the crook of his neck.

“You need to change your ringtone.”

“I like my ringtone.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Stiles smiled at the ceiling. He couldn’t help it. Even with the backhanded way they’d ended up here, he couldn’t deny the way it felt like everything had fallen into place exactly the way it should. 

His phone stopped ringing. 

Stiles was pretty sure he was supposed to get up to check on his four murder-charges-in-waiting. He was pretty sure he was supposed to write up his fancy report for supernatural division records. He was also pretty sure he wasn’t going to move a goddamn inch.

He wasn’t sure what this meant for them. He was happy she was here, really happy, but that didn’t change the fact that she had given him two weeks to fix it. Fucking and fixing were two different things. 

“Lyds?”

“Mmmph.”

“Today is Saturday.”

Stiles felt her hold her breath, her ribs pausing against the side of his. 

Lydia propped herself up on her arm, leaving the other one draped over him. There were black smudges under her eyes. She was the most beautiful thing Stiles would ever see, he was sure of it. 

“Yeah?”

Stiles took a quick breath to steel himself. Knowing was better, he tried to remind himself, knowing was always better. 

“Are you still sending me divorce papers today?”

Lydia bit the inside of her cheek. She fished Stiles’ hand out from the duvet and started playing with his fingers, twisting them in hers. Her eyes stayed intent on their hands, not meeting his as he searched her face for hints. 

“...no…?”

“I don’t really want to do the whole ultimatum thing, but I think it’s obvious that if we get un-married we’re not going to keep doing this. You either leave your horse hitched to my wagon or you don’t.”

“No, I know that.”

“Okay. So...”

Lydia started a thumb wrestle. Stiles gave her a hard look. She tried to trap his thumb under hers and he dodged his away. He got distracted by it, knowing she was trying to buy herself some time. 

“Why do you think I tried to leave?”

Stiles’ eyes jumped to Lydia’s. She nudged his shoulder with the back of her hand encouragingly. Stiles evaded another trap in their tiny war. 

“I think you left because you got bored. I got wrapped up in my work and stopped doing regular-person stuff. You wanted someone a bit more put together and you got sick of my shit.”

Stiles trapped Lydia’s thumb under his. She twisted her away before he could pin her down for the count.

“You got all the right conclusions for the wrong reason.”

“I’ll take it.”

“I wasn’t bored, I was scared like I said before. A bit lonely too.”

Stiles dodged another trap attempt.

“Lonely? I only stopped trying to get you back last week.”

“Being in the same room as me is different than being _with_ me. I felt like a purpose, a mantra, instead of your wife. I couldn’t handle being the reason you worked yourself down to the stubs. I couldn’t understand why things couldn’t go back to how they used to be.”

Lydia finally met his eyes. Stiles suddenly felt like an exposed nerve, too sensitive to every touch, every glance, every breath. 

“Things can-”

“No. Stiles. They can’t. I don’t want them to.”

“Oh.”

Stiles let his hand fall away from hers, forfeiting the game. That was it. Last night had been goodbye. For real this time.

“Do you know how proud I am to be your wife?”

Stiles gave her a sideways glance. The words felt out of the blue.

“Huh?”

Lydia pressed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder.

“Yesterday, I finally saw why you were acting the way you were. You’ve always been good at finding monsters, I thought you were being too altruistic. But you were brave and smart and measured too. All those people followed your lead because you were a leader. Self-possessed, sound judgement, the whole package. You weren’t not throwing yourself on the line to be some martyr and die with my name in your mouth like you used to try to. You saved the world because it’s the right thing to do and it's your job to do. I just never got to see it before. So what, you’re not the man I fell in love with? You’re the man I’m sticking around for.”

Stiles felt a little swell of pride in his chest. Maybe in the beginning he’d been chasing monsters for all the wrong reasons, trying to prove that he wasn’t just another bag of blood and trying to fight his way out of mediocrity. But it had become so much more than that. He was glad Lydia could see what he’d been working to build. His mind worked over the end of the sentence.

“You’re sticking around?”

Lydia pressed a kiss to his neck. A flush of heat surged to Stiles’ belly. Lydia smiled sardonically. 

“On some conditions.”

Stiles exhaled in a long breath.

“Lay it on me.”

Lydia pressed a kiss to his neck between each sentence, sending shivers down his spine. The good kind.

“When you’re feeling overwhelmed or caught between me and another obligation, you have to tell me. You can’t bottle it all up to make me feel better. It makes me feel guilty as hell when you do that. I’m not made of porcelain, you can talk to me about that stuff, but I can’t help what I don’t know. I am supposed to be your partner. You need to treat me like a partner. And you need to take a whole 48 consecutive hours out of the office a week.”

“I like the office.”

“And the office likes you. But you’ve got a great team. They can handle you taking weekends. Put Steph in charge.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll keep them on their toes. Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen and all that.”

“It’ll work out. Do you have any conditions? As you said, it takes two to tango.”

Stiles laughed.

“Oh is _that_ what we’re doing?”

“Seriously, it might work out better this time if you take what you want too. We suck at balance, but at least it’ll be even.”

She had a point. Stiles thought about it for a minute. A short minute.

“Would you… take my name? Not professionally or in a creepy owner-y kind of way. I could probably take your name? I guess the whole ‘Stiles’ thing wouldn’t make all that much sense, but like…”

Stiles didn’t know exactly what. 

Lydia kissed him once on the lips, slow and sweet.

“Okay then. Mrs. Mieczysław Stilinski at your service.”

Stiles groaned.

“No, Jesus, I take it all back. I’ll be Mr. Martin. Marty Martin?”

“Gross. I’m taking ‘Lydia Stilinski’ and running.”

The moment she said it, something hummed in the back of Stiles’ brain. She was taking him back. All of him. All in. 

“Deal.”

He returned that kiss. Slow and sweet. 

His phone rang again. Stiles swore and flopped his head back into his pillow.

“You should probably get that.”

“Benny’s probably wanting the rundown.”

“Give him the rundown. I’ll go freshen up.”

Lydia gracefully detangled herself and slid off the other side of the bed. She rifled through her section of the closet and selected a few pieces. Stiles had the bittersweet privilege of watching her walk away. He wanted to throw that goddamn phone out the window. Stiles swung his legs over and dug through the pockets of his pants for his phone. 

The ringing cut out the moment he found it. A text came through. Stiles read it once, eyebrows drawing down. It didn't make any sense. He read it again. It made perfect sense.

Then he stumbled over to his dresser and started digging. Did he want tactical gear or casual clothes? He wasn’t sure. He slid a sprig of mistletoe into the back pocket of his jeans. Middle ground.

Lydia came out of the bathroom all dressed just as Stiles shoved a whole vial of mountain ash into his front pocket.

“What’s the hurry?”

Stiles couldn’t help but talk with his hands, gesticulating wildly.

“You’ll never guess who I got a message from.”

“Scott? Jackson? _Derek_?”

“Dr. Willis! She wants to see us. Now!”

Lydia’s curious expression morphed into horror. 

“She’s already seen this outfit.”


End file.
